


Blind Faith

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blindness, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, fuck fate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2018-10-18 14:49:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 60,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10619184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: When he was eight, an attack left Noctis blind. It has yet to slow him down.





	1. Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> I have a weakness for this particular au. 
> 
> I'm also at [Tumblr](http://aithilin.tumblr.com/).

Noctis was eight when his world was briefly narrowed to a spreading agony and the horror of blood soaked ground. He was eight and in shock when his world narrowed down to the image of his father’s calm fury. He was eight— and bleeding to death in the mud and dark, beneath the body of a woman he had just been talking to— when he saw the power of his father’s Armiger shred the night in a protective rage. 

Noctis was eight when the last thing he ever saw was the terror of his father’s rage cutting apart the dark. 

No one knew the extent of the injury until Noctis woke; far from home and in the care of a strange kingdom, in the care of Sylva Nox Fleuret. No one knew the extent of the injury until the Prince of Lucis woke from vivid dreams to an encompassing, suffocating darkness and his father’s muttered apologies. Until the Oracle stemmed the spread of Scourge that had wound its way through the daemon wound. Until Noctis himself could attest that Scourge or infection or trauma had destroyed his eyes.

The princess of Tenebrae spent days with Noctis, reading him stories of the Astrals and telling him about the forest her home was built around. She guided him around the intricate furniture, helped him learn to guide himself, laughed with him as he started to recover. As he started to move with more surety, started to realise that he was able to make his own ways by touch and sound and the princess at his side. As he started to smile at the softness of flower petals and the sturdiness of carved wood. As he learnt new stories from a new friend with a kind voice. 

When he was blinded, Noctis was a child. He was adaptable. 

It became a common sight in the Citadel to see the king and prince walking the halls of the royal wings. To see the prince trailing his hand along the walls while his father held on tightly, talking about which doorway they had just passed and smiling in his patience. It took months to get to that point, long weeks of the prince sheltered away from the rest of the world. Nearly a year of quiet recovery in the already expansive chambers the prince had to himself, learning the familiar walls and furniture by touch. Nearly a year with the son of a trusted adviser sitting with him, guiding him, learning new writing systems with him. 

Nearly a year before the prince gripped his father’s hand and inched his way through the already dark hallways. Footsteps echoing against the dark stone— the lack of carpeting more apparent in the royal quarters with each step. 

There had been research and tests, new curricula and plans for the future of the Crown Prince. A whole future reshaped and rebuilt, adapted just as the prince had been forced to adapt. Clarus had stepped in with the Council and advisers and duties when Regis needed to be with Noctis— when the King needed to see to his son instead of the kingdom. Cor had stayed closer to home, overseeing the way his nephew recovered, sitting with the prince, helping him relearn his home when Regis couldn’t be released from his duties. The whole kingdom had buzzed around them from the city below the Citadel towers— the news of an assassination attempt, an injury to the Crown Prince— for nearly the whole recovery time, demanding updates and reassurances. 

And Regis regretted that he could only hold his son’s hand through the fear and darkness. 

“My study,” he said quietly, aware of how loud their steps were in the hallway, how his voice could carry. How Noct had seemed so much more sensitive to the noise now. How the prince would tilt his head, turn towards the sounds that echoed from the bare halls and the machinery and ask what it was, who was there with them. His own small voice sounding much larger in echoing against the stone. 

And Noct’s small hand traced the patterns that decorated the door, memorised what Regis had learnt was a unique pattern with its own imperfections and details to have it stand apart from every other door in the hallway. The stop-and-go of the wandering— the careful steps and the frequent pauses as the patterns and decorations and hallways changed— far too familiar for the king. “Your study. Can I still visit?”

“Of course,” normally Regis would have smiled, would have used the gesture to reassure when he didn’t trust himself to convey the same sort of certainty. In the year of recovery, he had learnt to steady his voice, to fool his own son into thinking he was doing better than he was, stronger than he was. “Of course you can, Noct.”

Regis didn’t miss the smile that earned him, the way his son’s head tilted towards his voice, the way the small hand tightened on his own. “You can still read me stories, then.”

“I’ll always read you stories.”


	2. Training

There had been a lot of debate over the prince’s training. The ruling school of thought was that the training would be delayed— reworked to focus on defence rather than traditional swordplay. The argument gaining the most support within the Council being for strengthening the Crownsguard and the Kingsglaive— dedicating factions to the prince, teaching the prince to share his own magic early rather than to keep it himself. There were arguments to teach the prince shielding, protecting, healing, and leave the rest of the fights to those who had the advantage of clear sight. The strongest supporter of the idea being Clarus, who had already started the process of selecting the most dedicated recruits to set on patrols near the prince— to let the prince get used to their movements and presence. 

Gladiolus didn’t like the idea, but he understood it. He had spoken with his father at length about it all, about the changes that would come, about how his own role would change now. He had been training for years already, ready to step up with pride to the same position his father filled. Ready to help his prince in any way he could. He had been expecting to train the prince when he was old enough— to be the first person to get a sense of the strength of the future king.

It was four years before he would see Noctis exploring the hallways beyond the royal quarters without a guide. Without his father holding his hand, talking quietly as a father rather than a busy king. Without Ignis following a few steps behind, books in his arms as he tried to direct the prince back to studies. 

It was four years before his weekend practice in the Citadel training rooms was interrupted by a scrawny little prince standing in the doorway, chin down and head tilted. 

It was four years before Gladiolus really got a look at the prince without someone guarding him. Before he realised that he was going to be the guard too, likely sooner rather than later. 

“Your highness,” Gladio had been using the training rooms since his father assured him that he had access to them, to the practice weapons and Crownsguard supplies. He had spent most of his weekend mornings practising by himself, improving as much as he could to prove to his father he was going to be just as good; “were you lost?”

“What are you doing?” 

“Practising, your highness,” he noticed the way the prince turned towards the sound of the wooden sword tapping on the floor as he let himself rest. He didn’t like the break to his routine, the disruption to derail his own training, no matter how slight. He didn’t even know where to start with the prince, not without someone else there with some sort of direction; “can I help you?” 

Noctis stepped into the room, hand slipping from the wall to fist in the hem of his shirt. “Can I watch you train?”

He knew what the prince meant, that he would listen to the steps and movement. That he would feel the movement of the air and sense the force projected in every movement. 

Blind or not, Gladio wasn’t used to an audience. Not for these weekend sessions where he had the entirety of the Crownsguard resources to himself. “If you want, your highness.”

He tried not to notice the prince— tried not to stare as the kid settled on the floor next to the doorway, back against the cold wall. Tried not to entertain the thought that his routine was interrupted. Tried not to notice the way the prince’s sightless blue eyes seemed to still follow him as he reset his position. Once he started, it was easier to ignore the kid. It was easier to focus on his own breathing and footwork— on correcting the arch of his swing, the efficiency of his steps and movement. It was easier to turn his focus on his own work— away from the slight movements that followed him across the room and the sightless eyes that seemed fixated on him. 

Gladio forgot the prince was there until he paused for a breather and the Crownsguard Marshal was crouching by him, talking quietly. He realised too late that it had been the soft conversation finally reaching him that broke his focus again. It was the sight of the Marshal, smiling as he spoke quietly to the prince, that made him lower the practise weapon until its blunted tip tapped against the floor. 

“Marshal Leonis,” Gladio started, embarrassed that he hadn’t noticed when the man came in. Embarrassed that he had been so intent on ignoring his audience that he had blocked out the rest of the world. It was a rookie mistake. 

“Amicitia, good footwork,” Cor nodded, standing as he did; “You’re a bit late on your downwards, though.”

“Yes, sir,” Gladio nodded, eyes on the prince as the kid pulled himself up from where he had been sitting— stiff from the floor. He hadn’t sent the kid out, hadn’t called for one of the kid’s handlers, hadn’t thought enough to stop his own training and lead the kid back to somewhere safer. He had disobeyed every order his father had told him in regards to the prince, because he wanted some more time to work on his own training. 

Now Cor Leonis was there, a hand on the prince’s shoulder to collect him. Now the Crownsguard Marshall was there to witness his own lack of discipline. 

“Noctis was just asking for lessons, too,” Cor had a protective hand on the prince’s shoulder’ “but I’m going to be too busy. What would you say to starting him off?”

“Training the prince, sir?”

“Yes. Think you’d be up to it?”

Gladio knew his father was going to be furious if he went against the carefully structured plan already being put in place. He knew that he was supposed to train with the prince, that if things had been different, he would have been helping to hone the prince’s skills. If things had been different, his father would have been the one asking this. But this was Cor Leonis asking, and the prince was right there… 

“I think I could manage, sir,” he didn’t miss the little smile from Noctis that time. 

He learnt over the next few weeks that Noctis was a quick learner. He could mimic steps and force based on what he heard, he could feel the way a weapon was supposed to move through the air. The prince took corrections easily, remembered them. And Gladio had learnt not to move anything until the prince was in the room. 

It became an easy routine, usually with Ignis standing watch nearby. There were days, early weekend mornings, where Ignis would settle on one of the benches that lined the far wall— where he would watch every step and stumble and new bruise with hawkish intensity. At times, he would have a notebook, or a can of some caffeinated drink, as he watched the way the prince learnt to move and mimic. And at times he had his own weapons by his side— the daggers he trained with, the polearms he was learning leaning against the wall— as he tapped an impatient hand against the hilt and handles, watching Gladio train only what he was comfortable with; still trying to eke out methods and lessons that a blind boy can learn from.

There were times when Ignis would join in on the lessons. When Noctis was fourteen, fifteen, Ignis stepped in with daggers and staves— helped Noct learn the new movements, the new steps needed. When Gladio would step back, with a pat to Noct’s shoulder, and take up the benches instead. 

They had years of mornings where they could learn each other’s habits. Learn the way Noct would nap against the wall or on the benches if left alone too long. Learn the way Gladio had worked well past thinking the prince needed to be treated differently— as if he were soft, or spoilt, or delicate in these training rooms. Learn the way Ignis would analyse and correct, careful to explain his movements in ways Gladio had yet to learn, so Noct could follow along. 

They had years of sessions working closely, like brothers, with the Crownsguard who passed by turning a blind eye to the way their prince laughed as he was knocked off his feet and pulled back up for another round.


	3. Reassignment

It was no secret that any duty at the Citadel assigned to a Kingsglaive soldier was meant as a punishment. That it was meant as a reminder that they were weapons, intended to be used outside in the warzones, not stagnating behind shields in the Crown City. They weren’t meant for the quiet and safety they fought for: they’d all die of boredom in a week. It was no secret that the most common guard duty— the dull pace at the doors, the set patrols through the dark stone halls— was the worst any Glaive assigned to the Citadel could expect. And the best was listed as “babysitting” duty— standing guard for the King, or very rarely the Prince— because that at least had some hope of interaction with another person. 

Nyx was no stranger to either, to falling into an easy routine on patrol, to grinning at the far too serious Crownsguard who didn’t know how easy their duty was. He was used to falling into step with the king he admired, who knew him, who had made the effort to remember him across all these years. But this was the first time he had been told that the Prince was his duty for the next month. 

“Don’t the punishments usually come after the crime?” Libertus had asked when they caught up over dinner. After Nyx had been pulled off a reconnaissance mission with Pelna and Luche. “You didn’t do anything yet.”

Nyx could only do what he had done at the time Drautos handed him the reassignment: shrug; “I was asked for by name. So it’s something new, or big.”

“So you get to be bored out of your mind instead of actually working?”

“It’s not all bad in there,” Nyx opened another drink; “the prince is interesting.”

Not that Noctis ever left the Citadel, as far as anyone would acknowledge publicly. Nyx knew better. He had stood with the kid while Cor Leonis took him out to the city— to the quiet parks out in the green edges to the south where there was fishing, to the arcades in the residential neighbourhoods where they were joined by a mouthy kid who seemed to periodically forget that he was hanging around the Crown Prince (who made Nyx smile as the kids tried to outdo each other with ancient pinball games as Leonis chatted with him). Nyx had seen the little troublemaker the Prince could be, knew that he was old enough now to be looking after himself if the Citadel staff wasn’t so deadset on treating him like he was helpless. 

Nyx had been sworn to secrecy about the trips out to the city, about the way the prince could _listen_ and _feel_ and just seem to _sense_ the world around him better than anyone Nyx had actually known. He liked the kid when he used to be assigned to the Citadel as a punishment, even if he was just set on some patrol or shadowing King Regis. Most shifts he simply stood guard, followed Leonis’ orders when told to come along into the city, and tried not to smirk as the Crown Prince had a taste of freedom with his uncle and whatever friends they could wrangle around them. 

As far as he knew, Libertus and Crowe had only ever stood a quiet guard or walked a lazy patrol when they were assigned. The few times Libertus ever mentioned the punishment was when he would complain that there were far too many guards watching over a kid who couldn’t do anything.

“I know you’re lurking there, Ulric.”

“Not lurking if I’m posted here, your highness,” Nyx had been surprised to learn that Cor was going to be out of the city for a few weeks. He had been told that Leonis had work to do, with the Nifs focusing their forces in Cavaugh. “I’m your babysitter for the next while.”

He didn’t realise in his time back with his own faction, that he had missed seeing the prince’s smirk. “What did you do this time?”

“Not a thing, your highness, I swear.”

“Right,” Noct still kept a hand on the wall as he moved through the hallways of the Citadel— no matter how familiar he was with the empty stone paths, some habits were still hard to break after almost twelve years of needing them. By now, Nyx thought that tracing the familiar patterns was just some sort of anchor for the prince as he wandered. Even if would never be able to appreciate the way the gold would warm and glitter in the light from the wide windows across the hall, or the way the Lucian black was really more of a grey. 

Nyx tried hard not to think too much about what the prince couldn’t do. Not when the kid was still bruised from whatever training he had just come from. Instead, he smiled and fell into step next to the prince; “Who won this round, your highness?”

“Ignis. But he cheated,” there was that smirk again; “he kept jumping around.”

“How villainous.”

“Said I’d be terrible against enemies that could fly.”

“To be fair, you would be.”

“I can _hear_ wings, Ulric. Just like I can hear your beads.”

“Lots of us Glaives have beads in our hair. Most of us are from Galahd.”

Noct paused at his door, tracing a well worn pattern near the knob— where there was a little crack in the gold decorations. “But you have two beads on your left, and none on the right; at least none that can hit each other. And you have a new leather cord in the long braid on your left, it doesn’t sound like the old one.”

“You know it’s weird when you do that.”

“Good. Are you coming in? Or are you stationed outside this time?”

“In,” Nyx nodded, gesturing for the prince to move through the door first out of a habit of his own. “Apparently I get to be the bearer of bad news.”

“Bad news?” The bedroom hadn’t changed in twelve years— it couldn’t, with the exception of a larger bed. The furniture hadn’t changed; the curtains on the windows still pulled open to let the light in because Noctis liked to feel the warmth of the sun when he could, or hear the rain against the glass. The only thing to ever change, to Nyx’s knowledge, was the small collection of flowers kept by the door. “It can’t be too bad if you’re the one giving it.”

“Just that Marshal Leonis is going to be away for a while. That’s why I’m here.”

That caused Noctis to frown, to mull over the situation for a moment. And even in the brightness of the spacious rooms, in the familiarity of the place, Nyx could see that moment of discomfort at the news— at the promise of some sort of change he wasn’t prepared for. “Did he say where he was going?”

“Probably, but I heard it from his majesty,” Nyx stayed by the door, let Noct move around on his own, watched carefully as the prince pulled out fresh clothes. 

“So you’ll be training with me,” the prince had a place for everything, even as he peeled off the t-shirt he had been training in and threw it to a seemingly random corner. “How are the bruises?”

“Not bad. You must be getting better.”

Noct smirked and headed to the connected bathroom, “If you’re going to be here, stop lurking.”

“Standing at attention is not lurking, your highness.”

“You _lurk_ , Ulric.”


	4. Warp Practice

Warping was an art, and not one that came easily to anyone outside of the Lucian royal line. Nyx had years of determined practice— of silencing doubt and trauma and every other kind of distraction that held him back— to get to where he was. To be as good as he was, as _needed_ as he was. He had learnt to warp with the same accuracy he learnt how to throw his weapons. With the same knowledge that if he was too slow or too late, or just a fraction off his aim, it could mean life or death for someone out on the battlefield. 

When it came to Noct, he had to rethink his strategy. 

“Okay…” Nyx always looked where he wanted to end up— knew where to throw at a glance. “What can you focus on, your highness?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Ulric.”

“Sound, fine, I can work with that.”

Before the prince could say anything else, before the two young Crownsguard kids watching the session could step in with suggestions, Nyx closed his eyes and threw his blade at the wall. He could hear the way it struck, the way it could only scratch the surface. Opening his eyes, he saw Noct’s attention on where the knife had struck and barely lodged itself in the wall. Nyx retrieved it in silence and tried again. 

“Is there a point to that?” Noct asked as Nyx took another throw, and another. 

“All due respect, your highness,” Nyx retrieved the blade again, relieved at least that it was just a training dagger and not his own; “shut up.”

He heard it on the next throw. That second of impact. That second where the blade lodged itself in the stone and could be forced deeper with the right force. He warped at that moment to test his theory— launched the blade high and hard and let the connection to his weapon pull him through the air to it in that tiny window of time. His weight lodged the blade deep enough to support him, to keep him suspended against the wall. Satisfied, he tugged the blade free and dropped to the floor, noting the familiar look from Noctis— as if the prince was trying to work out the secret for himself. 

“There was a second there where you can force it deeper,” Nyx explained, wiping the white stone dust off on his sleeve. “Before it’s stuck in, but after the impact. That’s the moment you need to warp to it.”

“I heard it,” Ignis agreed; “The weapon won’t support your weight after that moment, Noct. Not unless you force it deeper.”

“So you’re sure about this warping thing?”

“It should be easy enough,” Nyx grinned, putting the dagger in Noct’s hand. “It should come naturally to you.”

Noct played with the knife in his hand, a nervous tic Nyx knew worked towards testing the weapon’s balance just as much as keeping Noct’s mind on something other than what a colossally bad idea they were all having. “I meant having the blind guy throw sharp objects around.”

“You’ll be fine,” Nyx patted the prince’s shoulder before moving to stand closer to Ignis and Gladios. “We’ll make enough noise so you know who to aim for.”

“I hate you, Ulric.”

“Love you, too, your highness. Get to it.”

Noct had learnt to throw weapons already. It had been built into the training against the wishes of most of the Crownsguard. When it became obvious that the Lucian magic Noct carried in his veins, that connection to the Crystal, was not dulled by his blindness or past injury, it was agreed that the prince’s training would need to expand beyond defencive methods and shields. Warping would happen eventually, and it would be easier to teach and hone if the prince already knew how to throw a blade. 

It was time to work out the smaller details. The finer points of shattering through reality to blink from one point to another with the full power of Lucian magic pushing the prince forward.

It took six tries before Noct managed to catch the weapon at the right moment. Where he finally heard that little window of opportunity when the blade struck and lingered long enough to let him break reality around himself. The first few tries, the blade was too loose in the stone, and he fell back hard— the momentum of his warp doing more to slam him into the wall and then floor instead of properly catching on a secure hold. 

When the hit landed and the prince was able to support himself, they may have applauded. 

“About time,” Nyx grinned. “Do it again.”

He wasn’t surprised when Noct launched the knife at his feet and tried to kick his legs out from under him once he landed. He _was_ surprised by the way Noct followed his warp across the room. 

“He’s a fast learner,” Gladio called after him as Nyx tried to keep a step ahead of Noct. 

It took a moment in the little game of tag for Nyx to press his advantage— to get beneath the prince and catch him before he could gain his footing and hold on the weapon. “Easy, brat. You’ll end up in stasis if you keep that up.”

Noct was laughing, and Nyx knew the feeling— the utter freedom of flying like that. Of not being restrained by the physics of the world. Nyx knew what the exhilaration of Lucian magic could taste like, and he only knew a small portion of it. He knew that it practically sang through Noct’s blood. He held on to the prince until he felt the telltale crackle of crystalline power start to calm around them, until Noct was no longer vibrating with unleashed power. 

“Easy, Noct,” Nyx muttered as the prince calmed. “Easy.”

“I’m fine.”

“I know,” he stepped away as the prince regained his footing. “You’re amazing.”

The warping became a common part of the training— a daily addition to the drills and steps and lessons. They agreed that it would be something meant for defence, to pull Noct out of danger. No matter the control he had over it, Nyx was adamant that any practical use in a fight would be to get the prince the hell away from danger. Even if it meant one of them becoming the target for Noct to thrown weapons at. 

Out of all of them, Nyx was the only one who had really seen the chaos of a real fight out beyond the protections of the Wall. He had been the only one to see just what the Nifs could unleash, even if Noct might never experience that sort of firefight. 

After a week of perfecting Noct’s timing and techniques with his different weapons, Nyx said; “You hear me call for you in the middle of a fight, Noct, you throw that blade at me. Don’t try anything else.” 

“I’ll aim for you, Ulric, don’t worry.”

“Leave the heroics to me.”

“Shut up,” Noct shoved Nyx as they walked back to his rooms. “You worry too much about this. When the hell am I ever going to be in a real fight?”

“It might happen, little prince.”


	5. Sense of Home

“Can’t imagine the boredom,” Libertus said over drinks, still bruised from the beating he had taken on the last bout over the Wall. Over the little strip of no-man’s land between Cavaugh and the last Lucian bastion. “You’re missing all the good fights.”

It had been a few weeks now, with Nyx barely leaving the Citadel. Barely leaving the prince’s side— working the prince’s training, learning his companions and acting as his guard. It had been hard to hear that the Glaives were going to the front lines without him, to the edge of the stalemate to stare down the Nifs while he was left out of the potential fight. It had been a hard few weeks, hearing about the skirmishes when one side pressed at the other a little too much. 

“From what I hear, you’ve been bored on the lines, too.”

“It’s better than babysitting.”

Nyx smirked and offered a shrug. He tried not to think about it too much. He tried not to worry about Crowe and Libertus out in the middle of no where, or Luche and Pelna off to Six knows where without him to watch their backs like he was supposed to. He tried not to think about how easy he had learnt to enjoy the relative quiet of the Citadel, the company of the prince and his dedicated Crownsguard companions, even the mouthy kid from the city who came to visit most weekends. He tried not to think of how easy it was to let Noctis pull him from his post because he was “lurking” again. 

How he had spent most of the day sitting by the prince’s side as Ignis read him lessons and caught him up on events from around Eos. As he watched those pale hands move over embossed paper Nyx couldn’t understand and pull the words like he was reading it all from a book. Noct insisted he was reading, had even tried to teach him what the little marks and bumps and textures meant. As Noct teased him when he admitted it was over his head for now. 

Nyx had needed a drink when he decided that it was all too _peaceful_. To _comfortable_. And it had been far too easy to fall into the routine of just shadowing the prince— of training him, of talking with him, of seeing him more than just the prince he was supposed to be guarding. Of looking forward to being in the prince’s company and in the peace of the guarded towers.

“Any word from Pelna?” Nyx asked, not wanting to think about Noct. Not while his oldest friend was in front of him; not while Crowe was on her way off shift. Not while he could feel like he was back where he _belonged_ for a while. Back in the depths of the city with its chaos that reminded him of home.

“A few check ins, but everything is still real hush-hush,” Libertus picked at the plate of food, at the watered down flavours that were only vague reminders of home. “Don’t think they’ve been north, though. Not with us, at least.”

It was easy to fall back into the banter, the chatter between them. To laugh with his friends down well past the light of the Citadel— where they could drink and fight with each other. Where they were just the scrappy refugees from Galahd. Where Crowe would punch his side for every bad joke that just made Libertus laugh all that much harder.

Libertus was the first to call it a night, patting Nyx’s back as he left the mess at their table; “At least they haven’t changed you up there, hero. We need you back with us.”

“I’ll be back before you know it, big guy,” he knew the look Crowe was giving him, knew that perceptive narrow of her big brown eyes. “What?”

“How is the prince, up there in that tower, anyway?”

“Not you too, Crowe.”

“Hey, I don’t hate them. I’m not Libs. But you’re off, Nyx, you’re not here.”

“Maybe I’m thinking about Pelna getting stuck with Luche out in the field.”

“Bullshit,” Crowe huffed as she finished off her drink, as she pushed the bottle across the table with the rest. “What’s with you?”

It was getting late— the lights strung up around the patio tables were turned off, the stall order windows shuttered and locked. Nyx had thought he was doing fine; “Nothing’s with me, Crowe. You need to get home.”

“You like it up there.”

“Crowe—”

“No, I get it. I’ve stood guard up there too.”

Nyx gathered up their bottles, the empty plates, the pieces that they had left from their meal and tossed it all, kept his back to Crowe and her damned perceptions. “I’m not thinking of moving up there, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Of course not,” Crowe shrugged her jacket back on to her shoulders. She was ready to leave by the time he turned to face her; “but they aren’t family. Not matter how attached you think you are, they have their own shit going on.”

He nudged her as they parted ways for the night; “Maybe meet them before you start talking like that, Crowe.”

“I have met them, hero. Doesn’t mean they care about us rats.”

He wanted to keep that in mind the next morning, he wanted to dwell on it, to keep it like a fresh reminder that he had people waiting for him down in the districts. Down past the shining barriers and streets and into the little slice of Galahd that had run from invasion with him. He wanted to think that Crowe was right to be sceptical of the Lucian wealthy; that Libertus was right to dislike them all together for their withdrawal of support. 

But Noctis had met him outside the little side door to the guards’ locker rooms and took his hand. Nyx had just changed into uniform, was just reporting in and heading to the post by Noct’s doors— knowing that he’d never stand there long before Noct dragged him around. 

“Hey, usually I get to my post before you start running around, little prince.”

“This is more important,” the prince was smiling. No good ever came when the prince was both excited and smiling, and up early. “Dad wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Is that all the warning I’m getting?”

“Relax, hero. It’s good news.”

He knew the prince had twelve years of relearning the Citadel— of wandering under supervision and guidance, but it was still odd to be pulled through the increasingly busy hallways by a young man who couldn’t actually see the amusement from the Crownsguard soldiers they passed along the way. Nyx still managed to get lost in the Citadel at times, but he knew this route well enough— the path to King Regis’ personal study. He took the moment they had in the elevator to breathe. 

“What’s this good news, Noct?”

“You’re going to be my Kingsglaive,” the prince was fidgeting during the ride up to the study— to the royal residences rather than the official offices or throne room. He had let go of Nyx’s hand, started twisting his hands in the hem of his shirt before just shoving them into his pockets to try to still himself. But Nyx could practically feel the energy radiating off Noct; “If you want to, of course. But you would have access to my power instead of dad’s.”

“You’re still learning your power, little prince.”

“Exactly. You’re already familiar with everything. You know what I should be capable of.”

“Right…”

“Do you want to?”

“Want to?”

“Be my Glaive. I mean, Iggy and Gladio are my Guard, technically. You’d technically be my Glaive, too. You already are, without all the formality yet, anyway.”

Nyx was quiet a moment, thinking the idea over— this was not what he had expected. Not after the night before, after Libs and Crowe, and the worry. He wanted to keep that hurt breathing a little bit longer, but Noct was still smiling, and he had seen that kid unleash hints of his power already— had chased him around the training rooms with the others, throwing spells at each other while warping to safety. He had watched Noct stumble as stasis hit him hard, and held him through the worst of it until Ignis handed him an ether or elixir, whichever was suited to just how hard Noct had fallen. He had talked Noct through techniques to craft his Lucian spells, to control them, working over the theory of it with Ignis before letting Gladio put it to practice between them. 

Nyx had already tasted the edge of the magic that Noct had within him. The actual lending of power just wasn’t formalised, wasn’t _allowed_ yet. But the promise of it was there.

“Yeah, yeah, little prince. I’m already yours.” 

The smile from the prince was infectious, Nyx had to practically push the brat forward out of the elevator. He kept a hand on Noct’s arm out of habit now, knowing the prince didn’t need it, but acknowledging that it made him feel usefull— as if he were guiding Noct around instead of being pulled through the halls. 

“Ah, Sir Ulric,” Regis was at his desk when they stepped into the study. As Noct paused at the door before stepping forward to the familiar chairs. “Take a seat, please. I’m sure Noctis has already asked you?”

“Yes, your majesty,” Nyx took a seat as ordered, more stiff than Noct— not used to not standing at least at a parade rest around his king. No matter their familiarity. “Prince Noctis has asked, and I’d like to accept being his sworn Glaive.”

He didn’t miss the quick smile from the King, the little nod of acknowledgement, the way the king sat that much more relaxed at his desk; “It will be a change for you, Sir Ulric. Noctis is still learning his power, he’s not as strong as you’re used to.”

Nyx also didn’t miss the little look of amusement as Noct huffed at that; “I’m sure I’ll adapt, your majesty.”

“Good. Because I have an assignment for you, too,” Regis had stacks of files on his desk— reports, news briefings, rumours and word from the front lines, or whatever else was needed to run a kingdom. Anything he had was doubled for Noctis— embossed on thicker pages with the writing Noct had learnt, copied in a safer code in Nyx’s opinion. But the king pulled a folder and envelope from the stack and held it out for Nyx to take; “The reconnaissance mission you were pulled from. We’ll discuss this once you’ve had some time to go over it.”

“It’s not through the captain, your majesty?”

“No. This is a personal matter.”

“What—”

“We’re going to get my Armiger, hero,” Noct supplied, grinning again.


	6. Half-Baked Plans

It had taken most of the day to get through the file the king had handed him. Most of the day to go through the notes and pictures— there were clips included, little selections of video to help find the tomb openings, the doorways needed to access the graves where Noct’s ancestors were waiting to grant him power. If they would grant it. Nyx had never actually been clear on the whole idea of just what the Lucian royal line did other than become living weapons. But he spent the day with the file laid out, spread across the expanse of Noct’s desk and the table shoved up against the wall furthest from the bed, Ignis and Gladio and Noct going through it with him. Like all of the other files and reports presented to the King of Lucis, the appropriated embossed equivalent was granted to the Crown Prince— usually in the care of Ignis. And the prince had wasted no time in skipping ahead of them in their plans, searching out his own information on the Royal Arms scattered across his kingdom. 

Ignis had a map of the kingdom pinned down on the desk once they had organised the file into sections they could manage. He had marked off the easiest locations to get to, noted where the tombs were based on the notes and coordinates that had been included. “The Marshal had requested that we meet him at the Tomb of the Wise. It should be easy enough to get to; we may even be able to return to the city within the same day.”

“Or stay at a haven,” Gladio muttered, making his own marks on the map. He had a smaller version already marked up, a list of coordinates of havens throughout the kingdom— small camping spots marked and protected with magics older than the Lucian Wall. “Getting the equipment wouldn’t be a problem.”

Noctis’ hand was moving over the lower part of a page, and Nyx knew that the prince was reading ahead again. There was a second tomb nearby the Wise, buried in the depths of structures that had been re-purposed as trenches, not left abandoned to desperate people and hunters looking for shelter from the dusts of Leide. He had Pelna’s layout of the old trenches in front of him, the door to a tomb clearly marked deep in the labyrinth. He had no idea how this was going to work, how much planning they would actually need, or even why they were doing this trip now— he had seen the Armiger at work just once back in Galahd when Regis stepped in and saved his life, he knew what sort of power it was— when Noct had years ahead of him still. 

He couldn’t picture Noct with that arsenal, with those phantom blades at his command. He couldn’t picture Noct a living weapon like that, strolling into a battlefield like Nyx remembered his first real sight of Regis as a proper, commanding king. The prince was a good enough fighter in the training rooms, but he wasn’t that. He wasn’t the calm fury of a lineage of weapons. He was just Noct.

“There’s a second tomb close by the Tomb of the Wise, too,” Noct said, setting the report in his hands down in the carefully laid stack no one else would touch. No one else would move. 

“Tomb of the Conqueror,” Ignis agreed, looking through the notes made by Luche and Pelna; “But there’s a chance that the Niflheim army might be in control of that area. If the rumours coming in are correct.”

“We’ve been at a stalemate with them for years,” Nyx huffed, “I’m sure they won’t break that now. Not when all their force is in Cavaugh.”

“But they might break it if the enemy prince wanders too close,” Gladios said, marking the map with the location anyway. “And Noct just needs to be in contact with the Royal Arm to receive it. There’s no confirmation that he needs to be in the tomb itself though, the Marshal was vague on that point. If one of us could get it—”

“I’d rather do it, where I can,” Noct gathered up his stack of embossed, thick paper, thumb moving over the marks in the corners of each to ensure they were still in the right order. “We’ll start with the Tomb of the Wise and see what Cor has to say.”

“The Marshal may have some suggestion,” Ignis started packing the file away, gathering the pictures and lists and notes they had all added to the intelligence gathered by the mission Nyx was originally meant to be a part of; “Right now the mission seems to just be making certain that the doors are intact and locked. Once we arrive, I’m sure we’ll be given new tasks. I understand that the Marshal has some experience with this sort of… adventure.”

Nyx groaned, his head already throbbing from staring at the pictures they had managed to get through, referenced with the sources Ignis knew of that detailed as much of the Royal Arms as could safely be written down. There was still the electronic information gathered by Pelna, likely schematics and enemy reports, whatever was easier to carry with them than a stack of paper and pictures. Nyx already suspected that some of the readings he would have ahead of him would detail the daemons camping out in the dark and depths of the insane places the Lucian kings chose to be buried. “So we start with one, and go from there. It’ll just take a day or two if we’re quick about it. Maybe four if we really take our time.”

“I want Prompto to come,” Noct said, not fussing as Ignis took his copy of the report from his hands, returned it to the rest of the material. “He’s started some basic training, and he’d kill me if I left the city without him.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Nyx grinned, patting Noct’s shoulder as he got up from their little workspace at the desk, leaving the map where it was for the Crownsguard brats to go over. He took the rest of the file from Ignis— leaving the tidbits for their plans and trusted them to get the details settled. “I’ll speak with his majesty and see if there’s anything else we would need. Or of he has any idea why your ancestors were all such sadistic jerks, Noct.”

“How is this sadistic? It’ll be fun,” Nyx wasn’t surprised by the prince’s definition of ‘fun’ anymore, or that particular, troublemaker grin. He wasn’t surprised when the prince stood with him, hand gripping his arm in the familiar manner that meant that Nyx was not escaping Noct any time soon. “I wanted to talk to dad too.”

The real issue at hand wasn’t the matter of how much preparation they needed— Nyx had no doubt they’d be outfitted with the best of everything they could carry— but that the file was only half complete. There were only four tombs mapped out so far, and Nyx knew that there were far more Royal Arms in the king’s armiger. He had never counted, there had never been the opportunity to ask, but he thought there must have at least been ten of those phantom weapons the king could call into existence at any time. 

They were going into something with only half the information, and Nyx wanted to know why. He wanted to know why, if he had been meant to go on the same mission to scout for these tombs, he had been pulled off and reassigned to training Noct instead (and why it was done without Drautos’ involvement, because the Captain still assumed he was on a standard babysitting round). There was a difference in going into a war half-informed, and going on a roadtrip with the Crown Prince; Nyx wanted to know which it was that he was signing up for. 

“You’re worried,” Noct said once they were far enough down the hall that their voices wouldn’t carry back to his rooms, to his friends. “Going to tell me why?”

“For a blind kid, you’re pretty observant.”

“It’s a gift. What’s going on?”

Nyx considered, not sure just how much Noct knew about what could be going on, what could be going wrong. He had seen the front lines, he had watched other Glaives die out in the wastes and abandoned outposts. “Just thinking we need more information.”

“About the tombs? Or the Royal Arms?”

“About why you’re going to get them now.”

“I’ll eventually need them, right?” Noct started, his grip on the jacket tightened; “Dad’s had a cane since I was sixteen. A proper knee brace since I was fourteen.”

“Noct…”

“I’ll be able to alleviate some of the strain on his power when I’m stronger. I get stronger with the Armiger.”

“You don’t need to take over his duties, you know,” Nyx hadn’t even considered that possibility— that Noct was being groomed properly now, after a childhood of being free from the responsibilities of the throne. Of having very little to do with his station and birthright and fate. At least, as far as Nyx had seen. 

Noct snorted; “Not all of them, no. But I can help.”

“You’re a good kid,” Nyx meant it, knowing that Noct was determined to take up more to help his father, his kingdom. He had seen the prince’s determination and pride, the edge of his power that would likely surpass his father rather than rival it. 

Nyx grinned as Noct shoved him forward in the hallway; “Stop calling me a kid, hero.”

“Oh, of course, your highness. Do forgive my impertinence, Prince Noctis.”

“Shut up.”

“No.”

“Why are you my Glaive?”

“Because I’m the only one who can be trusted not to kill you.”

“That can’t be true.”

“You’d be surprised, kitten. No one else would put up with you.”

“Did you just call me ‘kitten’?”

“Yes, though I prefer calling you ‘Little Star.’”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Noct asked as they reached the private study, as he knocked on the heavy doors to see if the king was there. To see if they’d need to venture to the throne room for a formal request. Nyx offered a polite bow and a cheeky grin to the king and his shield as Noct shoved him through the doorway.

In the end, there was nothing more that Regis could offer them in their short meeting behind the closed, quiet doors of his study. There was no more tidbits or tricks, or answers that could be given. At least none that wouldn’t be some sort of breach— that needed Nyx to be approved to higher security than he had, despite his recent role around the Citadel. 

The king agreed that it wasn’t his idea, but one of necessity and tradition. Every heir to the Lucian line made this sort of journey around the same age. Though there were over a hundred Royal Arms, but most within the confines of the city were claimed or lost or declared treasures to the public. Regis had taken the Arms furthest from the kingdom’s heart, himself— when he was young and looking for more than just a diplomatic mission. But the remainder were for Noct— those replaced a generation or two ago by those who served the crown more faithfully than most; the Arms laid to rest and locked away as much as they could be until Noct was old enough to collect those he could. 

Nyx still thought that there was something amiss. 

But they agreed they should go before the end of the month. At least for the first tombs. To test Noct’s footing out in the wilds of his kingdom, in the dusts of Leide. The extra time set aside to keep their training regimen and to make their plans. 

“Anything less than a month will be far too rushed for Ignis,” Regis had said, smiling as Noct snorted; “And you will need that time to get used to lending your magic to a Glaive.”


	7. Bindings

When Nyx had taken the King of Lucis’ invitation to join the newly forming Kingsglaive, it had been with the understanding that the power was only borrowed. As Drautos reminded him often enough. He had always expected that connection to his king to be cut at some point, to no longer feel that thrum of the Crystal feeding into the back of his mind. To no longer feel fire and lightning and ice just below the surface of his skin, or the strange pull of a warp technique that so few ever actually mastered. He knew that the power he had been gifted was not for the long term. 

Just he never expected to feel such an acute loss when it was finally withdrawn. 

When he had been granted that power— and he remembered the ceremony clearly— it had been like getting hit by a car. There was nothing, and then a sudden impact, a sudden rush. And for a moment he saw himself, standing before the throne with the other recruits, the king’s amusement and concern niggling at the back of his mind ever since. That concern growing with every passing year. He had remembered then, that sight through the king’s eyes; seeing himself as the king saw him. 

But if taking on the offered power from King Regis was getting hit by a car, being the sole Glaive assuming Noctis’ power was like getting hit by Titan. 

There was no ceremony this time, no show put on the for public to view and the press to spread around. No intention to let the little reassignment get further than the door to the king’s study. But there was also only one Glaive. And all that power behind the Lucian line, in the Lucian blood, was focused on him. Not the ten, twenty, thirty Glaives Regis regularly recruited into the faction. Just one. Just Nyx. 

“Shit,” and the force of it brought him to his knees. Gasping with the sudden flood after his share of the King’s power was replaced with the full promise of the Prince’s. 

“Sir Ulric,” Clarus _tsk_ ed from his space at Regis’ side; “language.”

“Right, sorry, just…” his world went dark for a moment. “Shit.” 

He would have thought that he had passed out, if it wasn’t for the noise. The sense of space around him— the familiarity and knowledge of what was in that space, the uncertainty of movement that was appeased by the sound of knees hitting carpet and fabric of clothes moving— or armour shifting and the softest of chuckles from a far more familiar voice. 

Nyx realised, once he could see the little smirk on Noct’s features, the same as his father’s, that he would have been seeing through the prince’s eyes in that moment if the prince could see. 

It was one thing to have just an allotment of magic shared and spread thin. It was another to have the full, ragged edge of it. And it was ragged, compared to Regis’ refined skills. Noct’s magic was wild and crystalline and untapped, despite years of learning the basics of taming it. 

“I’m sure he can be forgiven, Clarus,” Regis said, still smiling as he patted Noct’s shoulder. “This will be the first time he doesn’t need to share.”

It took a moment for Nyx to regain his feet, to return to some form of dignity now that his senses were singing and he could understand just why Noct could be such a wild little daemon when he wanted to be. And he can feel the amusement— Noct’s amusement— burning at the back of his mind like his own. 

He knew it would fade with time, he’d become accustomed to the feeling of something, someone, else in his head, hitching a ride on the power. But for now, he couldn’t keep the grin that matched Noct’s from his face, even under the Shield’s exasperated look. 

The oath to Noct’s service was the easy part after that, the promise that there would be papers and files to move and sign and shift around made. And an order to get some rest. 

It was stupid, but he opted to head home for that part. To finally detach himself from the Citadel after weeks of practically living in Noct’s rooms, and try to separate what was himself and what was a part of the prince’s power slipping beneath his skin and through his mind.

When he was closer to the more familiar streets of the Galahdian Districts, the air thick with steam and music and shouts, Nyx was feeling better. Less overwhelmed. It was easier to manage the world around him— the sudden flood of reminders that there was a barrier above him, above the city, singing with only a fraction of power; that there were deposits of raw magic scattered everywhere, inching their way into his mental maps of the familiar city— the closer he got to the little territory he called home (though he was already itching to get back to the Citadel). 

“Hey, hero!”

He had forgotten that he’d have to pass by Libertus’ favourite food stalls to get home. He wondered idly when he had forgotten that— when he had pushed it so far from his mind. 

He wondered when the last time he saw his friends was. He smiles as he steps into the little patio seating area; “Libs, hey.”

“They finally let you out of that cage up there? Back to mingle with the regular folk?”

Nyx thought of the new expanse of power now flowing beneath his skin, making him want to burn. He accepted the drink offered to him instead. “Something like that. I guess they haven’t let me out much.”

“When are you getting off that assignment anyway?”

There was a tremendous difference between the little group of Lucians he had been spending the better part of two months with, and his family from his homeland. He had missed the easy tones of his oldest friend, the not-so-subtle sense of loss and grief that Libertus had never really shaken off. He was still distracted by the new sense of magic he was connected to— the new line he was tethered with— and he knew it would be better to go home and sleep rather than let Libertus know that he wasn’t likely to be going back to the Kingsglaive ranks as they were. 

“I don’t know,” Nyx knew that he had never been one to make the most sensible choices; “It’s sort of getting into something else now.”

“What,” he knew that look— those narrowed eyes, the set of his friend’s jaw; “you staying on guard duty? They can’t do that, you’re the best we got down with the rest of us grunts. Did you talk to the Captain?”

“Libs, it’s fine. It’s not a guard post.”

“Then what the hell is it, Nyx?”

He knew he shouldn’t say anything, he didn’t know what part was classified, what wasn’t. He didn’t know if ‘glorified babysitter’ was still the best term to use now that he was sword to protect the Crown Prince just as much as Ignis and Gladiolus. He didn’t know if there was a timeline he would offer to his friends about when they might be told the details of what had happened. Or if they were even allowed to know about the upcoming trip outside of the city he would be taking. 

So, in his distraction and exhaustion, he just offered a shrug; “Look, I don’t think I can get into detail, Libs. But I need to crash. We’ll catch up later, yeah?”

“Yeah, fine. Go crash, hero.”

“Libs—”

“No, it’s fine, you look like you need it.”

There was going to be trouble with this— this strange balance that he had already lost— Nyx knew that it would come sooner rather than later. He knew that it was going to spread from Libertus to Crowe to Pelna, and it was going to need to be addressed. 

But with the sense of Noct’s power and the chaos it had brought on already, he just wanted to deal with the rest of his family later. 

After he had a few decent hours in his own bed.


	8. The Ride

It was easy to lose track of time in the Citadel— to let the days bleed together as new magic was tested and skills were assessed, as plans were made, and the final preparations for what everyone had affectionately dubbed the ‘roadtrip’ were secured. It was easy to forget that outside of the expanse of halls was an entirely different world— one that Nyx could hear off in the distance, muted against the magic and stone. It was easier to just crash in the little lounge room set aside for the guards on Citadel duty, or in Noct’s rooms (usually on the floor or against a wall until the prince dragged him into the bed and used him as a pillow), than it was to make the trek back to his apartment most nights. It was easy to forget that he should be on rotations, shifts, reporting in to a commanding officer— not laughing as he played warp tag and sparred with the prince while Gladiolus and Ignis watched on (either offering a steady stream of commentary, or placing bets, depending on their moods). It was easy to forget that he should be sitting with his little Galahdian family, his salvaged family, deep in the depths of a noisy district, with bad food and worse drinks; not sitting around with the Lucian nobility while Ignis practised his own recipes and this little group of brats tried to sneak vegetables to the blind prince. 

Somewhere along the way, Nyx wasn’t sure when this sort of unstructured life had become his own. When he had stopped being a commissioned soldier— one with rank and file and the promise of a routine punctuated by the chaos of a battlefield well beyond the safety he was in— and ended up a part of Noct’s entourage. Another part of a royal shield. Another force just pulled into the prince’s orbit. 

Somewhere in that month since taking on the prince’s power and reliquishing his connection to the king’s, Nyx had found himself falling into an easy step with Noct. He was never far behind in the familiar halls, just as much a fixture as Iggy and Gladio, flanking the prince like a proper personal guard during meetings and scheduled appearances. Trying not to smile as the prince intentionally pushed the buttons of the council of advisers King Regis had gathered to him— as Noct refused to turn his face towards the people who dismissed him for his blindness. Holding the prince back when he flirted too closely with stasis in training, handing him off to Gladio to have some sense beaten into him about pacing and breaks and not relying on just one style of combat. Taking away reports (or shoving them into his hands) when Iggy had determined that Noct needed a break from learning the details of the roles he was going to assume and the weapons he was going to wield— blind or not.

And somewhere during this month of practice and planning, and learning a whole new set of duties, Prompto had become a regular fixture in the Citadel. He would appear most afternoons and weekends— wide-eyed and grinning as always at one of the side doors, making calls to Noctis to let him in past the ‘scary guards’. Usually laughing as he was escorted up, bag still open from the checks, and Noct far too amused by the trouble his friend could cause the unsuspecting Crownsguard stuck on duty. It got to the point where Gladio or Iggy would collect Prompto through the checks— where they requested whatever tools and toys he needed for his tinkering to simply be delivered and left in Noct’s rooms, in the training rooms, in the free spaces meant for actual work rather than the hobbies of boys barely out of their teens. 

“Where did you learn to do that?” Nyx once asked during a break in the training rooms; eyeing up the machinery in Prompto’s hands, the dismantled gun, the tools scattered around him as Noct sat nearby and filled little flasks with newly crafted spells. “And shoot, for that matter.”

“Cor taught the shooting,” Noct offered, holding out a spell for Prompto to take. Nyx had the feeling that this was not what Ignis had in mind when he wanted Noct to practice more with his skills in elemancy— in drawing the power from deposits and stores of magic and refining them into new spells, into new weapons that could give them the edge in whatever battle they may face outside of the King’s protection. 

Nyx was fairly certain that Ignis hadn’t meant for Noct to indulge Prompto’s hobby by lending his new toys real power. 

“Really? Why?”

“Said something about having a good eye,” Prompto grinned up at Nyx, fitting the spell into the slot he had crafted. “Who knew photography could be weaponized?”

Noct snorted, “You should stick to photography.”

“You can’t even see my pictures!”

“But I can hear you shoot.”

“Okay, I nearly hit you one time. One. And you’re fine.”

“No wonder they don’t like letting you through the door,” Nyx smiled, patting Noct’s shoulder. “C’mon, Little Prince, we have some details to work out.”

There were still plenty of preparations to make, plenty of details beyond what supplies they needed and what route they were going to take. Out of all of them, only Nyx had ever spent any real time outside of Insomnia— had grown up finding havens and fending off apex beasts who didn’t think a human with a blade or a gun was any threat— even if it hadn’t been in the desert and scrub and ruins of Leide. Ignis was managing the details of their cash and routes by road, the first exploratory trip simple enough; Gladio had their supplies and back-up paths by foot, the way they could cross from haven to target if there was a block or obstacle not planned for— or an escape route home if needed. The last of the details were just the weapons and practicals of taking a blind prince out into the wider worlds beyond the Wall after nearly a lifetime of shelter and safety.

“What details are left?” Noct asked once they had left Prompto to his invention, with Gladio hovering nearby to try to minimise the risk of explosion. Once they had slipped past Ignis and his inventory lists and supply counts. Once they had deviated from the more familiar route to the prince’s rooms. 

The realisation that he was no longer supervised with the prince had come suddenly a few days ago. The realisation that, at some point, Iggy and Gladio had stopped stepping into the same room when he was otherwise alone with Noct. That the familiar presence of the more protective, younger Crownsguard had finally eased off. That he was trusted enough— considered close enough, enough of an insider to the little group now— to look after the prince in his own way, without Iggy’s careful watch and Gladio’s more protective shielding.

“Nothing much,” Nyx answered, used to the grip on his jacket getting a bit tighter when he changed the path; used to the way the prince tried to fall into his pace rather than hesitate or hold back. Used to the way the prince trusted him to guide him safely through any unfamiliar halls. “But I spoke to his majesty about our transportation out of the city.”

“What do we get to take?”

“You’re going to love this, Little Prince,” Nyx had got the keys shortly before collecting Noct to show him. He had signed forms for Clarus, made promises to Regis, and showed them both the routes and stops and paths that Iggy and Gladio had planned for them. He had heard every speech and concern, and couldn’t stop the grin as Clarus handed him the keys. 

Now, in the garages beneath the Citadel, where Noct had never had reason to go, he tried not to marvel at the fleet of cars so far above his pay grade that they were little more than shining toys of metal and chrome and sleek black shadow works of art. When he found his prize, settled serenely next to the smaller Star of Lucis, Nyx smiled and moved to take Noct’s hand. He guided the prince to the car and let him feel the shape of it himself. 

It had been a special request. The original plan was for something less conspicuous, less recognisable within the city. But Ignis had told him one night— when Noct and Prompto had finally collapsed into a pile of exhausted limbs— that the King’s car held a special place for Noct. That it was safe, familiar, and that Noct had always been able to pick its sound out from the fleet when the King returned home to him. 

“The Regalia,” Noct was smiling, hand moving over the curves of the familiar car. “Dad’s letting us take the Regalia?”

“You’re not allowed to drive, obviously. Clarus made me sign a form.”

“Sure he did. He probably gave you a lecture on seatbelts too,” there was detailing on the sleek body that Nyx had never really got a good look at before— the Lucian decorations and patterns worked into the smoothness— until Noct started seeking them out. “We’re really going then.”

“Of course, Iggy would kill someone if all his plans were ignored,” Nyx tried to keep the grin out of his voice, tried not to let it show just how pleased he was that Noct appreciated his little surprise. “We’re going out there, Little Prince.”


	9. Ice Cream Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, over at my [Tumblr](http://aithilin.tumblr.com/) too.

It took just over an hour to cross the bridge out of Insomnia. With Ignis at the wheel and Noct settled in the backseat between Gladio and Nyx, while Prompto happily wondered at the sights of the Wall from the other side. Somewhere between checkpoints, Nyx had tossed his arm around Noct’s shoulders and joined in with Prompto’s game of describing things for Noct’s benefit. There were birds Noct asked after, the horns of boats carried from far below on the winds whipping over the water and funnelled between rocky barriers and the Wall. The suspension cabled— the great hulking twists of metal and machinery that made up the great bridge— creaked with the force of the winds, and at the midway point Iggy brought the hard top half of the car back into place to protect them from the worst of it. 

Regis had met them before they left, smiling despite knowing that his son wouldn’t see it. Calm despite the anxiety Nyx could see in his king’s eyes when they fell on him. He could see the tremble in his king’s hand just before it was steadied on Noct’s shoulder. And not for the first time, Nyx joined the others in busying themselves with the car to let the father and son have their moment. Nyx admired the bond, but he didn’t want to see his king— the man he had thought of as a protector for all these years— look so old, so worried for his child. 

By the time they had passed the last checkpoint and were through the Gate, it was hard not to grin at the open road before them. There were more cars heading into the city than leaving, and their route was more-or-less a straight line across the scrubs and dust of Leide. 

Nyx smiled as Noct leaned back against his arm, grinned at Gladio’s amused look over their smiling prince. “Getting comfy, your highness?”

“Planning on napping through the adventure?” Gladio offered, a book already dug out of the packs at their feet.

The wind was making a mess of them, the sun just a bit too bright without the barrier of the Wall to dim it against the glare on the roads. The city might be the shining jewel of the Lucian crown, but the open, warm lands were the crown itself. And Noct seemed perfectly at peace as he closed his eyes and soaked up the heat like a cat; “Can’t sleep with the noise you two are making.”

“Oh, should we keep it down?” Nyx was still grinning. He could see the slightest tilts and movements of Noct’s head as they passed landmarks— shelled structures, remnants of a war that had come just a little too close to home for anyone to want to acknowledge, the gnashing and noises of prowling beasts just out of range. The hills and crags of broken stone and ridges all painted gold with the sun-kissed desert, spotted green and grey by the short trees and brush that struggled just outside of the range of the road. The sun glared off the asphalt and metal of the guard rail, off the pristine road and wavered in the heat that blurred the horizon; Nyx was glad he wasn’t the one behind the wheel. 

But Nyx knew that Noct was sensing other things that weren’t so obvious— the raw power of Lucis buried in the lands. They passed a haven, and Nyx felt the subtle thrum of the elemental deposits calling to him from the safety of barriers far older than the king’s magic. He let a soft touch ghost Noct’s temple and smiled as he watched the focus on that raw, wild power sooth out of the prince. If he could feel the hum of just the most obvious deposits at this speed, Nyx couldn’t fathom the sort of distraction it must be to Noct. 

“Tell me what you see,” Noct said, slouched just that much more, face still turned to the warmth of sun. Nyx could swear he sounded breathless, but blamed the wind. 

He left out the details of sun bleached ruins, but told Noct about the way the creatures out there moved from shadow to shadow when he could spot them. He told Noct about the dust moving like a cloud in the distance, and of the stone outcrops. He described the mountain in the distance— seeming rising from nothing to a peak in the middle of a wasteland— as it seemed to pass slower and was so much further out of reach for their little plans today. He mentioned the outpost they were passing— the blot of white concrete with its metal monstrosity above its store, and the peak of the massive garage offering some sort of shadowed sanctuary despite the waves of heat around it.

Prompto twisted around in the front seat grinning as his hair was swept forward; “Think this place has ice cream? We should stop for ice cream.”

“Maybe on the way back home,” Ignis agreed; “For now we have a mission.”

Nyx almost laughed at the exaggerated pout from Prompto; he leaned in close to Noct, unable to keep the smirk from his voice. “I think Specs is going to need a break, little prince. Or Prompto’s going to end up sulking.”

He was rewarded with a small smile and Noct leaned forward in the seat, “Actually, Iggy, can we take a break to stretch? It’s a bit cramped back here, you know.”

Nyx kept a careful arm around Noct, even as Ignis glanced back at him through the rearview and started to slow. He knew that look of hesitation, that carefully hidden flash of uncertainty the man hid behind years of carefully cultivated diplomatic confidence. No one could ever deny a request like that from Noct. Certainly not when the prince offered a small, sweet smile. Certainly not when the full force of it was directed at just one person. And certainly not Ignis, who knew full well that he was being manipulated, even as he settled for turning them around and doubling back to the little shop and diner.

“Very well… But we really do want to be at a haven or well-lit area for dusk.”

“Keeping monsters away is Nyx’s specialty,” Prompto grinned, resettling in the front seat before the movement toppled him. “You worry too much, Iggy.”

The little chuckle from Gladio, attention otherwise still firmly focused on his book, was enough to get all of them a glare from Ignis. 

They hadn’t gotten too far past the little rest station— the Hammerhead outpost, as the sign glared in the sun— and it was a simple enough turn to make on the near-empty roads. It would be simple enough to park, let Prompto drag Noct into the shade of the little diner to explore, and take a few moments to revel in the freedom from the Wall. To enjoy the waves of heat not usually felt back in the city. Or at least for Ignis and Gladio to consult their respective maps as they made adjustments to the careful plans as Nyx trailed after the prince and his friend to keep an eye on them. 

There was a specific way Noct was introduced to new places by his friends, Nyx had seen them all in action. Most of them included keeping a constant contact on Noct’s hand or arm until the prince pulled away to explore for himself. Ignis’ method was a steady stream of description— all matter of fact and clinical in its completion— until Noct asked about something specific that caught his attention, usually with a small smirk as it derailed whatever train of thought Ignis had got onto. Gladio would keep a protective hand on Noct’s back, but only point out things of use or interest— eyes always moving to judge his prince’s comfort while assessing the threats that might become an issue at a moment’s notice. Nyx preferred his own way of deciphering if Noct was uncomfortable or curious, of keeping the descriptions anecdotal and open, let the prince figure out what was interesting for himself even if it meant a bit of a wander away from the path set out by everyone else. 

But Prompto addressed Noct as if he wasn’t blind. It was careful just as much as it was carefree, and Prompto bled his excitement into everything. He knew that Noct would want to know about seating and menu, that the prince would recognise from sound and smell that the place was a diner. Prompto knew that Noct would know from the lack of voices that the place wasn’t busy, and that what little passing conversation he caught would tell him what he needed to know. He knew that his best friend would pick up on the sound of doors opening and the lack of tinny tunes playing from gaming machines; and he worked around that, even as he dragged the prince to a quiet booth and told him to sit tight for a minute. 

Nyx nudged his way into the booth by manhandling Noct further down the bench. Once satisfied that the prince wasn’t going to try wandering off, he pulled out his phone. 

“What are you doing?”

“Just checking my messages, little prince,” Nyx smirked, glancing at Prompto establishing that the “pit stop” did have ice cream and was willing to serve it in more than just a cone. “Can’t leave people just wondering.”

“We’ve been gone for half a day.”

“And there’s four messages from his majesty here,” Nyx sent off the updates and the change to the plan, snapping a quick image of Noct settling against the cool glass of the window to reassure the king that all was well. “And two from Clarus telling me to focus on the mission at hand.”

“There is not.”

“If you could see, I would show you,” Nyx nudges the prince. The messages from Libertus and Crowe were more troubling, but he smiled as Prompto fell into the seat across from Noct and set down two bowls of ice cream. Once they had figured out who was getting what, Nyx started to respond to the most demanding of the messages— sent nearly a week ago and ignored until now. 

_Where the hell are you?_

A week without looking at his phone— caught up in either training the prince, learning the moves of his companions well enough to trust them in an actual fight, and preparing for this trip out past the wall. A week without going home or answering the texts from his friends. _It’s confidential._

_So confidential you can text now? What the hell?_ The message pinged in quickly, meaning that Crowe was either on leave, or about to go on mission. Nyx hoped it was the latter. 

_It’s an informal sort of confidential._

_Have you even been home? I’m serious._

_Not recently. Been busy with this._

_No call? No text? Fuck you._

Nyx took a deep breath and stared at the last message for a long moment. Even in text he knew when Crowe was angry. He had always been able to tell between her playful little bites and the ones meant to be harsh. This was definitely not a playful one. He shot off a quick; _Text when you calm down, I’ll see what I can tell you._

“Something wrong?” Noct asked, and Nyx realised just how tense he was next to the prince. 

“Not a thing. His majesty is fine, the Citadel is still standing, and no one in Insomnia knows you’re not hiding in your tower,” he stole the spoon from Noct’s hand to taste the ice cream. At least he could use the indignant look from Noct as a distraction, and smirked as the prince punched his arm for the theft of the spoon. “This isn’t half bad.”


	10. Campfire

“So what exactly happens when Noct gets to the Tomb?” Prompto asked once they had made camp for the night. 

The Prairie Outpost had turned out to be little more than a hunters’ gathering area of run down building and ruins. The rubble had never been cleaned out, the vehicles left to rust and salvaged and cannibalised had never been moved from their deathbeds, and the term of “outpost” had seemed to be added to the signs and maps as a mockery over the last thirty years. The only steadfast inhabitants— from what Ignis could tell from where they had settled in the dust— were the hunters who had used the ruins as a sort of headquarters. For every indication that the Outpost may have once been a thriving little community built up around the Tomb of the Wise— little signs that had been left to rust and discolour and crack in the sun and pressure of years spent under a neglectful occupational force— the reminder that Lucis was failing in its war became far more real. But the ruins across Leide— the exposed metal skeletons of buildings and farms, the crumbling brick and mortar of walls already being reclaimed by desert and scrub, the hulking, twisted frames of machines that must have once carried the Lucian economy left shattered against boulders and still scorched where a firefight toppled them— had already made them wary of the sort of enemies that might still be prowling along the land and residing in the fresh structure of the distant base. 

For now, Nyx was just concerned with Noct attempting to navigate the uneven ground and rubble himself. He didn’t want to think about how Galahd must resemble this sort of shattered land— how the towns and cities and the remnants of everything he had known must be in a similar state of neglect in its forest shelter.

Ignis had confirmed with Cor when and where to meet before they decided that the haven overlooking the outpost was better suited to the five of them. Rather than try to figure out how to make a caravan work between them.And from their vantage point, the fires and floodlights of the Outpost were just as comforting from their distance as the glowing runes and spellwork of the haven. 

“Assuming Noct impresses his ancestors, they will bestow their prized weapons,” Ignis offered from the campfire, the little grill and table already covered with the beginnings of dinner. “It’s a passing of power, if I have it correct.”

Noct snorted, a hand the lines of the rune he was sitting on, having settled at the edge of the haven plateau rather than closer to the fire Gladio had started. “Yes, let’s see what they make of a blind prince.”

“You’ll be fine,” Gladio offered, giving Prompto a shove for even bringing the conversation up. “You’re hardly a weakling.”

“Still blind,” Noct said, hand stilling on the spellwork around him— the faint glow getting stronger as the sun set, almost offering them the same comforting light as from the fire. “And dad always says that the Lucii are harsh judges.”

“Be that as it may—”

Nyx fell into place next to Noct, giving the prince a little shove for his doubts; “Then your ancestors are dicks and you should probably stop worrying about things you can’t control. Besides, if Lucis won’t have you, you can come live like a peasant with me in Galahd.”

“Oh, can I come too?” Prompto was grinning, camera in hand as he documented every moment of their first night outside of the Wall. “I’m a peasant.”

“Sure,” Nyx returned the grin, offered a thumbs up for the following picture. He felt more than saw the way Noct tensed as the first growls of the night rumbled across the cooling desert. He could see the way Noct’s attention turned towards the noise of the hunters on lookout in their tower grafted together with bits and pieces of whatever they could find, towards the called warnings barely muffled by the distance between the haven and the outpost. He leaned close to mutter; “Sun’s down, little prince, that’s all.”

“The daemons are that fast?”

“We’re fine here. Don’t let them bother you.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“You can’t even see them, smartass.”

“You can’t feel them.”

The creatures, the strange daemons that twisted their way through the night, could be seen far enough away to be considered at a safe distance. Nyx could see them, could hear them when the wind was right. He could hear the rumblings and growls and had faced them head on in battles before moving across the dry land of Leide like a warning. But he couldn’t fathom the way Noct must be tapped into the Lucian magic if he could feel the creatures— if he could sense the daemons where they were, meandering slowly in search of their prey. He pulled himself to his feet and stretched, dragging Noct up from his seat at the edge of the haven; “Not going to lie, little star, that’s weird. Let’s pretend you’re normal for a minute and get some food.”

He gave Noct a light push towards the warmth of the fire and the trusted Shield that was there to direct him to one of the folding chairs. He smiled at Noct’s indignant look in his direction and the little swat it earned him, but noticed the way the prince reached out for the others in this new uncertainty. He could see the tension in the prince at the new adventure— not only outside of the intimately familiar Citadel, but now with the open threat of whatever was growling in the distance. 

“You’re worried,” Ignis said as Nyx approached to gather the plates. 

“Me? Never,” Prompto had dragged a chair closer to Noct, was playing some loud game on his phone, his animated descriptions of the new level, the new puzzle, bringing out a more familiar smile. “Just thinking that Noct doesn’t seem like the living weapon type of king.”

“The Armiger should expand his awareness, rather than just serve in battle.”

“You’ll know,” Nyx stole one of the morsels of meat before Iggy could plate it, arching an eyebrow at the glare. “Have there been any other Lucian kings like Noct?”

“Blind? Not that I know of.”

“In general, you know, disabled.”

“The records for most of the kings and queens of Lucis aren’t that complete, Ulric. And people don’t generally talk about their leader’s weaknesses when living.” Ignis offered a small smile, handing over two plates to deliver to Noct and Prompto. “It’s in bad taste to spread that sort of thing about the dead, as well. Especially when descendants will need to believe in the legends of their own family.”

“Of course, because being some sort of all powerful weapon is a much better story than being human.”

“It’s a complicated matter, Ulric. History is—”

“Definitely not written by anyone expecting to see the future,” Nyx brought the food over, not quite sure why the idea that Noct was unique in the royal line bothered him. He had seen the way Regis commanded the Armiger before, he had seen his king’s quick commands to call phantom weapons into being in his own defence. But something about Noct like that— smiling, bratty little Noct— becoming like that, directing weapons against enemies, being blooded the same way… He carefully closed Noct’s hands around the bowl of rice and meat after Prompto took his portion. “Eat up, little star.”

“You need to stop with those nicknames.”

“Never.”

“I hate you.”

“Of course you do,” Nyx grinned at the little pout, at the reminder that Noct was still just barely done being a kid. That out here in the wilds beyond the familiar safety of his home, he was muted and subdued compared to how he normally was. “You can hate me just as much when I’m teasing you in front of your uncle.”

“I might just kill you then.”

“You can try.”

It was Prompto who rolled his eyes, “Guys! No flirting while I’m eating! It’s disturbing.”

Nyx wanted to tease Noct about the sudden blush, about the stammered denial, about the weak punch to his friend’s shoulder. Even as Gladio laughed and teased for him, Nyx wanted to see that blush deepen. This was the kind of uncertainty he liked to see the prince navigate— it was safer, and gentler than any battles could be— and he could protect Noct through this play. As Ignis handed him his own meal, Nyx realised that Noct like this— blushing, laughing, lit by firelight with the sky full of stars around them— was one of the most comforting sights he could imagine.


	11. Tomb of the Wise

There was some expectation of resistance when they got closer to the Tomb. Some expectation that a Royal Arm would be guarded in some way— would draw attention some way, would be valued by more than just them. Though the hunters in the little outpost seemed uninterested in the royal tombs on their doorstep, there were warnings of the beasts which prowled the nearby trench and ruins— warnings of daemons in the dark spaces of emptied fortifications and digging and dragging at things well out of sight in war shattered shelters. They expected all of that to some degree, Nyx more than the others, as Ignis and Gladiolus had spent hours in their planning picking his brain about the sort of creatures that had been appearing in Pelna and Luche’s reports. They had spent the morning going over their maps with the hunters, getting a feeling for what they already knew was coming.

At least the Tomb of the Wise was in the open air. That one would be the easy one. 

After the nervous peace of their first night out from under the Wall, they were eager to keep exploring. 

Nyx had only seen the trenches in use on the front lines at the Cavaugh gorge and the North Gate. He was used to the familiar structure of a headquartered base— the Lucian style to use the land around them as the foundation rather than build new, monumental eyesores like the Nifs— the cement facades supported by natural hills and stone, and reinforcing the fortifications of narrowed spaces. Only the walls he was used to— the open trenches barely masking the tents and barracks— had been marked by fire and claws and bullets far more recently. The only reminder of the lost battles of Leide he could see in the structures again— further along the path once they had passed the rusted fences and signs which pointed the way, set start white in the dawn sun and crisp air against the darker natural stone— were the scars across the cement. He could see the discolouration where shelling had smudged ash and blood against pristine white where the dust had settled from storms to mask the marks of the war dead, gouges barely noticeable at the distance of daemon claws both old and new, faint outlines of reflected magic he could only see because he knew what to look for. 

But it was the twisted metal and fallen Nif ships that had him more worried than the distant movement of some beast looking for easy prey. Some of the ships that had been felled were old, as expected. Others were newer, and in the distance, throught haze of heat and storms and beyond the fortifications that had already fell to an enemy, Nyx could just make out the lines of Insomnia’s physical barriers standing still against the sparks of telltale red Nif flares leaving battlements at the front lines. He could see Ignis eyeing up the area ahead— searching out threats of Empires and daemons and the beasts that had already left their marks on the rusted fences meant to block off the area— and smirked, offering a pat to the young man’s shoulder; “Explore history later, Specs. We’re going this way.”

The Tomb gate was impressive when they found it— Nyx could admit that— the solid stonework rising fron the hills and dust and scrub of Leide and its well-work dirt paths. It was still standing, just as the pictures from Pelna and Luche had shown, after centuries of neglect and open hostilities. The polished stone still shining in the harsh Leide sunlight, barely touched by the war that had raged around it. He was less impressed with the flock of daggerquill already eyeing them up.

Noct was the first to react to the beat of wings and the scrape of claws as the birds lifted off from their perches like guardians to block their way. They had been warned by the hunters in both Hammerhead and the little outpost they had just left that the beasts were becoming more aggressive, that the creatures that used to run from humans were now attacking what they sensed was a weaker creature. They had been warned by the report and Nyx’s own experience that there was danger from more than just the daemons prowling the darkness.

By the time Gladio had reached for his sword, Noct had warped— a dagger striking soft flesh rather than the hard stone of their training rooms. With no solid purchase, Noct started to fall with the bird. 

In the second Noct was in free fall, Nyx had warped to the structure of the tomb gate; “Here.”

The direction had barely left his mouth before he had to dodge Noct’s dagger just as much as the birds that had decided they were prey. When the strikes only clipped the wings of the beasts, Ignis and Gladio finished them off as they fell, and Prompto’s shots echoed against the stone as he picked off the ones Noct couldn’t sense. Noct moved from one side of the gate to the other, finally following Nyx’s lead to the ground when the worst of the nest had been cleared. 

“Little showoff,” Nyx grinned, pleased with how well the simple set of attacks had worked as well as they had. Pleased that Noct had not let himself just be pushed back. “But you should probably keep your feet on the ground for a while.”

“I agree,” Ignis looked Noct over, noting the prince’s smile and the familiar crackle of power between royal and Glaive, called forth by the warping between the wide pillars of the stone structure. “At least until we’ve assessed the battle? You shouldn’t rush in.”

“I could hear them. I didn’t miss,” Noct swatted away the attention, “I’m fine.”

“Be that as it may,” Iggy started, a look Nyx knew well begging him to help get the prince under some sort of control; “perhaps a plan of attack might be in order in the future?”

Nyx nodded his agreement, an arm around Noct to pull him closer and reset his bearings, a careful turn back towards the right path. “Listen to the strategist, little star. It’s a bit hard to protect you if you go picking fights.”

There was no missing the pout, even as the prince shoved him away, as he dismissed his weapon and started up the little road again. “You all worry too much.”

“Kinda in the job description, buddy,” Prompto took Noct’s hand to lead him up the hill to the Tomb steps— to the shining, pristine dome of stone and statue they were there for. “It’s your own fault for being a prince. Steps, four then this huge platform thing.”

Noct slowed enough for Prompto to guide him, to follow their routine of Prompro kicking the first step before hopping up to the next, tapping a foot against the weathered stone as Noct followed— never releasing the prince’s hand. “How is that my fault?”

“It just is. Like the blind thing,” they had worked out the routine at some point in their friendship, the constant touch, the constant noise, the smile seeping into Prompto’s voice as he hopped and tapped and directed. 

“Prom—”

“So we get to worry, even if we know you can kick ass. Got it?”

“Though that was impressive,” Cor was waiting for them at the Tomb door, in the shadow of the alcove, arms crossed and sword still sheathed. “Don’t do it again, Noctis.”

“Can’t promise that I won’t.”

Cor had always appeared harsher than he really was— more disciplined, more anchored in the the reality of the war fought just outside the safety of the crown city. The rare occasion Nyx had seen him out on a battlefield had been hard to reconcile with the man he knew from when Noct was young— from the times he was pulled off a Citadel posting to act as a second set of eyes for the Marshal out in the city when he took a young prince out to experience some of the world he couldn’t see. Nyx knew that there was always a softness for Noct in Cor, a willingness to bend to Noct’s curiosity and stubbornness and pride. And here, in the shadow of dead kings, Nyx wasn't certain if Cor was here as the Marshal of the Crownsguard fulfilling a mission that had been months in the making, or if he was here as Noct’s uncle, a guiding force not as absolute as Regis. He didn’t miss the soft touch to Noct’s shoulder, or the small smile as Prompto guided the prince down the final steps to the tomb doors.

“I see Prompto was a good choice to bring along,” Cor said, straightening as he looked the group over, as he looked his nephew over. He produced an ancient key, pushed open the heavy doors that had withstood centuries and wars. “How are you holding up?”

“We’re doing great,” Prompto beamed, “Uh, sir. No trouble at all.”

“Good, this one’s the easy one,” Cor guided Noct forward then, explained the Tomb and its layout. His words echoed in the empty dome, no matter how soft. The air hung heavy with the reminder that Noct was fulfilling a duty of his own here. That he was challenging his ancestors to lend him power he might not be ready for. 

Out of all of them, only Cor had ever seen the Armiger being collected. Only he had seen the shine and crystalline shatter of a Royal Arm being called to its own bloodline. Nyx wondered at the stories before, at the suggestion that the souls of the Kings didn’t really rest, that the way Noct could take them in meant something more than just a legacy passing from one to the other. He wondered, idly as the flash of light faded around them and Noct stumbled back a few steps into Ignis, if it wouldn’t have been better to just let the dead rest. 

“The next one is in the tunnels of Keycatrich Trench,” Cor told them, stepping back out into the sunlight. “It’s more dangerous there, but it shouldn’t be anything you can’t handle.”

The key was pressed into Noct’s hand, and Nyx fell into step next to the Marshal as he led the way back to the dusty roads. “Any reason why Pelna and Luche aren’t here, sir?”

“They’re in Cleigne, and fine. I’ve got them commanding some hunters to secure a few of the Tombs there that should be easier to manage,” Cor barely glanced back to where Noct was flanked by his friends; “You have bigger things to focus on, Ulric.”

“Even so, Marshal. Glad they’re okay.”

“How’s his training going?”

Nyx grinned, “You saw what he can do so far.”

“Good. Keep on him.” Cor paused at the crossroad for Noct to catch up. “Noctis, I’ll take you to the trench, but the tunnels are for you to work through. I need to take care of a few things in other parts of the Kingdom.”

“More Tombs, right.”

“That’s a part of it,” Cor tapped his shoulder, an indicator for the direction he would need to turn in. “If you need anything, I’m working with the hunters. They’ll get a message to me just as fast as any service in the city, got it?”

“You’re talking like you expect something to go wrong, Cor.”

“Don’t get complacent, your highness,” the Marshall stepped back to look over the little group. “Let me know when you get back to the city.”

“Right,” Noct nodded, and took hold on Nyx’s sleeve in a more familiar habit. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too, Noctis.”

Nyx smiled and patted Noct’s hand on his arm, “Let’s get you that other weapon, little prince.”


	12. Tomb of the Conqueror

“At least the generator is working,” Gladio muttered as the machine sputtered to life and the lamps scattered through the tunnels flickered on— the glass clicking after years of disuse in the half-collapsed tunnels. The air was still heavy, and the little lights clipped to pockets and belts stayed on despite the generator’s hum echoing through the stone. 

“It is nice to have a little extra light,” Ignis agreed as he set them back onto their path. 

Noctis huffed, one hand on the smooth stone walls, the other gripping Nyx’s sleeve. “Really? I can’t tell the difference.”

“Noct—” Iggy sighed, carefully shifting the scattered bottles left by hunters and refugees and others seeking shelter out of the way.

“I know, I know,” Noct paused as the others took their places— Gladio and Prompto to the back, Ignis to the lead, Nyx by his side— and then pressed on. The stone walls were cool beneath his hands, uneven and weathered from the years of being carved and widened and clawed at. He could feel the deep gashes left by blades and claws— too narrow to be from shovels and tools meant to ease passage. “Let’s just fine the Tomb.”

“Map said it should be straightforward if the doors were unlocked. Some of the gates might be rusted shut, though.” There was the rustle of paper and Noct knew that Gladio was consulting the little pathway and map the Kingsglaives who had joined Cor on his mission had provided. “But there might be some daemons down here.”

“Daemons? Really? Aw man…” Prompto inched closer, and Noct could hear the leather of his glove against the stone behind him. He could hear the way his friend’s step faltered on the uneven ground and the shuffle of boots as Prompto kept pace with him and Nyx. 

“Hey, Prompto, be my eyes,” he wanted his friend to focus on something, to not freak himself out. He didn’t want that little feeling of dread— of doubt at the whole mission, the idea that he was in over his head if his friends were struggling to keep their composure. He felt Nyx shift next to him, could hear the man move just out of his reach s Prompto stepped into his place. “I’m kinda useless here. And Nyx is too boring to tell me any of the good stuff.”

The Glaive’s chuckle echoed around them off the cold stone, and he could hear the smile in Prompto’s voice. “You’re not missing much, buddy.”

The more Prompto spoke— in hushed, soft tones that still echoed in the long tunnels around them— Noct could feel him relaxing. Still alert, still nervous, still shuffling as they came to a crossroads and Ignis and Gladio consulted the little map while Nyx moved ahead to scout the datkness, but relaxing as he described the signs of life they passed. There were bottles and scraps, salvaged papers and bits of machinery, hints of struggles and weapons that Prompto had preferred to gloss over as he kept up his running commentary. Noct could feel the cable from the generator as it looped around hooks embedded in the walls, he nearly jumped I surprised as his fingers skirted the mesh covering of a low hung light. In turn, Prompto jumped when he did, and groaned at how easily he had startled.

“That is so not fair,” Prompto muttered, gripping Noct’s hand in both of his own; “You can’t even see how creepy this place is!”

“So tell me,” Noct offered a smile, even as he started at a sudden noise followed by Gladio’s apology. “I mean, I guess its fitting if we’re looking for a tomb, right?”

“Yeah, I guess. Still not fair though,” he could hear the pout in his friend’s voice, could feel the way he tensed as a metal door was rattled up ahead. “And Nyx is really not helping with the random noises up there!”

“Wasn’t me,” Nyx called back from another direction, one that Noct turned towards. He could feel the call of his magic in Nyx, like a tether to use to guide him. The stone beneath his hand became more structured, flaking edges of old brick worn and torn and clawed at, scratching his hand as he tried to navigate by touch and sense of magic alone. 

Prompto tugged him towards that same direction— away from the noise of rattling metal— a second later; “Let’s not go towards the creepy noises, then. Right? Creepy noises are bad.”

“It’s a dead end this way,” Nyx steps were solid in the tunnel, and Noct could tell he was careful of where he stepped but confident of the ground he did choose. There were piles of rubble— the broken bricks the loose stone, the discarded metal of whatever had been stored down when the war was still raging above— that they had been careful of so far, that were pushing Noct further from the walls and closer to the centre of the paths. “Looks like we get to follow the creepy noise.”

“I seriously hate you right now,” Prompto held on to Noct’s arm, stumbled as he tried to avoid the broken stones in his way. “Noct, why did we bring him?”

“I’m told he’s cute.”

“I’m adorable, your highness,” Nyx fell into step on his other side, a far more calming presence than Prompto. “There are a few rooms here and there, but nothing interesting. I guess this used to be an old barracks. Wait here a second, little prince.”

There were doors up ahead, soft breezes hinting at possible routes. Next to him, he felt Prompto’s nervous energy and the soft tug to his magic as his friends called their weapons to them. The sounds of the scuffle down the hallway had barely started before it ended, but Noct summoned his own sword— the familiar weight a comfort, the scrape of the tip on the floor beneath him a welcome reassurance. He knew if was Gladio coming back to him by the weight of his step and the rustle of his clothes. “We good?”

“We’re good. There’s a passageway up ahead, but it’s going to be awkward.”

“Since when has that stopped us?”

“Exactly,” Gladio gave him a soft shove to the right direction; “Iggy and Nyx are already through. The hero’s gone ahead to clean up the path for us.”

“Why does he get to have all the fun?”

“Because you and that sword are a hazard in this place, your highness. You’re going to have to crouch here. Just keep moving forward.”

“Got it,” the sword was dismissed again and Noct felt the small passage through a collapsed tunnel, the stones scored with the marks left by weapons and claws. Iggy was waiting for him on the other side, brushing the dirt off of his jacket once he was through and Prompto was back at his side. 

He could feel the distant pull on his magic as Nyx worked up ahead of them, as the Glaive cleared the way of whatever creatures were lurking in the dark. It was a strange sensation, to feel his power pulled over a distance, to feel each spell and warp coursing through the channel he had opened to Nyx before. He took a deep breath of the stagnant air and felt for the wall again, hands sliding over cracked plaster rather than the bare brick or weathered stone of before. “Are we getting close?”

“According to the maps, yes,” Iggy started walking again; “Nyx will let us know what he finds up ahead.”

There was a solid hand on his back— Gladio, his own greatsword out and ready for whatever Nyx missed— to push him in the right direction, and the surety of Iggy’s confident stride ahead. “The walls are different here?”

“We’re getting deeper into the tunnels,” Ignis offered, fiddling with one of the doors that had been rusted shut or locked from the other side; “But there should at least be an easier route out once we’ve finished.”

The shuffle of bottles and cans had stopped some time ago, before the walls had become more structured than just hastily cleared stone and ancient sandbags. The signs of life had been reduced to the scatter of broken weapons Noct knew that his friends were trying to keep from him, and the occasional salvaged potion or item. He could feel the press of the walls the deeper they went, the sense of dread barely eased by the tug and burn of his magic being used to clear out the dangers ahead. Even with Gladio at his back, sword at the ready, Noct knew that there was something living deep within the caverns, clawing at the back of his awareness. 

“What is this place?” He asked as they came to a new room, the inky, clinging sensation of a daemon’s Scourge already dissipating in the air. There was a canister of contained elemental energy nearby, and Noct reached out to it on instinct, feeling his friends move out of the path of the fire as he drew it to him to replenish what Nyx had used. “These aren’t just tunnels and caves.”

“Some sort of facility,” Nyx was across the room, pushing at a door; “Or at least it was used as more than just a barracks back here. There’s a hole to your left, little prince. I didn’t get a look through it yet, but its older than the rest of the place.”

“Iggy?”

“Sorry, Noct, the details are a little fuzzy when it comes to what these sorts of places were used for,” Ignis took Noct’s arm then, as Gladio examined the new opening, as Nyx returned to his side. “There are just the usual stories and fairytales of the magic of kings holding back some sort of monster.”

“Great, this should be fun,” Noct followed the sound of Gladio’s steps, felt the little tap to his shoulder as Prompto sprung ahead to scramble through the new opening. 

Without the sense of a lurking danger— without the creeping, dripping Scourge from the daemons niggling away at the back of his mind, with his friends back at his side— Noct wanted to explore. He wanted to take his time to feel what else there was in this adventure— to run his hands over something other than polished stone and to build a picture of something more than the fortified Citadel halls. As it was, he could only get a sense of the opening in the wall as the rough edge of a broken brick scratched at his hand, as the softened edges of stone worn away by centuries of people and daemons moving through the tight space brushed his shoulders and reminded him to crouch a bit lower.

It was Nyx who took his arm again, a larger hand closed around his wrist once they were clear of the debris and into a proper cavern. It was Nyx whose voice he could focus on over his friends’ chatter about the strangeness of seeing a tomb door set into the stone. “Just like the other one, little prince, but only the door this time. Need help with the key?”

“I got it.”

The road out was easier. The doors and gates locked on the way in were opened more easily from the opposite side now that there weren’t any creatures slipping through shadows to hold the things closed or to try to disorient them from the straightforward path back out. It was easier to let himself be led back outside, to follow the breeze once they were closer to the entrance and further from the stagnant depths of the caverns and whatever facilities the place had become during the more recent wars. It was easy to let himself relax and just pick apart the new power floating just within reach, the sense that there was a new strength he could call upon at will. And it was much harder not to just call the new weapons to his hands to test them. 

“So, like some new tricks up your sleeve, eh?” Nyx said once they were back at the little camp. Once they were settled back outside in the open air and the cooling breeze of the sunset, as Noct could hear Prompto showing Gladio the new pictures he got throughout that little adventure, and Iggy working on their dinner. Once he was settled into one of the folding chairs by the fire and Nyx knelt in front of him to clean and wrap the little scrapes to his hands. “Like you needed any more?”

He could feel the way Nyx’s touch lingered once the bandages were secured, once Noct could flex his hands without feeling the sting of the cuts from the weathered stone. He closed his hands around Nyx’s before the Glaive pulled away, and he wondered just what injuries his friends might be hiding from him, if there were any.

With the weight of the caverns and tunnels off of him, and the sense of the haven’s power shielding them as the dusk grew cooler, Noct could only offer a grin. “You do realise this means we’re going to be sparring as soon as we get home?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, little prince.”


	13. Return to the Citadel

The familiarity of the city and the Citadel was welcomed. Noct had been worried that it would feel too small now, too safe, to suffocating. He had been worried that the Wall domed above them— the familiar press and shelter of the Crystal’s magic, his father’s magic— would feel like a smothering blanket dropped over him after the freshness of the world outside of the crown city’s fortifications and barriers. He had worried that the chaos of noise and people and the stop and go of the drive back to the Citadel would feel more like a death march, or like he was being led back to some imprisonment after getting a taste of freedom with his friends. He had been worried that the noises, the change from barely any traffic to a bustling city, would be overwhelming again. That the heat reflecting off the concrete and glass and trapped in his rooms would feel like he was being stewed. 

Instead it was nice to collapse back on his bed, in the familiar comforts of his room and clean sheets and blankets. The softness of his own bed and the warmth of the sun through the open windows that wasn’t as stifling as the dust laden heat of the desert and scrub just outside of the Wall. The soft scent of the floral arrangements set weekly on the little table by the door— the little bit of delicate aroma meant to greet him with each new waft of air through the door— reminded him of far sweeter things than the open road and the stale tunnels and tombs. It was more of a welcome than he thought it would be, to just fall back into the familiar covers and laugh as Prompto landed next to him, draped half over him in the big bed.

“Noct, buddy, I am never leaving your bed. This is so much better than that tent.”

“Get off, you jerk,” Noct was grinning as he pushed his friend off of him, pulling himself up enough to kick off his boots and then scramble back until he was propped against the headboard. 

“What’s wrong with the tent?” Gladio kicked off his own boots at the door, dropping the excess supplies from the Regalia next to the couch he had decided some time ago was his when he was visiting. Noct could practically time each creak and movement to the way his Shield settled onto the furniture— and could tell when Gladio was properly relaxed again, as he was now.

Ignis made his way over to the desk with the folder and notebooks full of notes, and Noct could hear his friend moving things into their respective piles before stepping out to find someone to take care of the matter of announcing their arrival to the king, and bringing them some lunch. Noct threw a pillow at his friend’s feet when Ignis stepped back into the room, “Iggy, take a break, man. We’re home.”

“And now that I’ve settled those matters, I am taking a break. Happy?” Noct could hear the smirk in Ignis’ voice, smiled as he heard the familiar sounds of cans being pulled from the duffel by the couch and the hiss and snap of Iggy’s preferred addiction being opened. “No doubt you’ll be summoned by King Regis before long.”

“Nah. Dad prefers to get his reports from you. We’ll talk over dinner or something.”

It was only Nyx who was still the unpredictable one in Noct’s perceptions. Prompto was practically purring for being stretched out on a soft bed again, the throw blanket folded within reach of the end of the bed already pulled over him. Noct rested his feet on his friend’s stomach, and turned towards Nyx approaching the bed. He didn’t resist as Nyx took his bandaged hand and pressed lightly against the loose dressings, the ones Noct had been fiddling with all morning as they made the long trip back to the city. As they filled the quiet of the car with plans for what they wanted to do as soon as they were back in the city, back in a place where they could spend the night wandering familiar streets and halls and getting back to a routine now that their little mission was a success. There would be new plans now, for longer trips out of the safety of the Wall, further than four of them had ever travelled before. 

“You going to relax, hero?” Noct asked, shifting over enough to make room for Nyx next to him. Not moving far enough to pull away from the attention the Glaive was paying to his hand. “Or are you going to fuss over some scratches.”

“Just checking, little prince. Can’t have you getting any infections now,” he knew that tone, knew that the Glaive was smiling as he started to unwrap the fraying bandage, as he checked to make sure they wouldn’t need anything more than the quick cleaning and the bit of gauze wrap to heal. Noct jerked his hand away as Nyx’s reassuring touch turned feather light to tickle his palm. “Oh good, you can still feel things.”

Noct was glad for the target Nyx’s voice made, because it was much easier to punch the man’s arm before he was shoved further along on the bed and Nyx settled easily next to him. He let himself be pulled back and manhandled into back against Nyx, knowing that the older man was just grinning now, just warm and happy on the too-big bed they had all crashed on before. And Noct could feel the magic he had handed over singing beneath the thin cloth of Nyx’s shirt, beating in time with the heart he could hear as he elbowed and pushed back until he was using the Glaive like a pillow. Until he had dragged Nyx down and was curled against him while he felt the familiar comfort of an arm around him. 

He heard Prompto’s snort after the chaos of their movements over the blankets and their struggle to get comfortable. And kicked at his friend as Prompto tugged on his ankle. “You two need to just kiss and get it over with.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

The arm around him tightened and he could feel more than hear Nyx start to laugh; “And that would be why we don’t, kiddo.”

“Don’t what?” Noct pushed himself up a bit, frowning as he tried to follow along, pouting as Nyx just pulled him back down. 

Across the room, Gladio groaned, but Noct could hear the teasing in his voice, could hear the amusement shared between his friends. “Noct, you’re too innocent, you know that?”

“What the hell? I am not.”

“Raised in a literal tower,” Ignis shrugged, his jacket brushing against the back of the chair in a familiar movement. Followed by the easy, fluid movement of the man standing to discard the empty can in his hands. 

Noct knew he was blushing, knew that the heat in his cheeks was going to be far more obvious to his friends around him. He waited until Nyx was about to respond, about to tease, before he moved. There were some telltale signs that Nyx was going to speak— the swipe of tongue against lips was accompanied by the faintest chime of beads moving against each other in his hair, the intake of breath, the movement of cloth as he accommodated Noct’s movements. He knew when to judge the right moment to move, to strike. To cup the man’s cheek and turn him so Noct knew where to place the kiss. 

He had never heard his friends actually fall silent before. Not like this, not this stunned death of noise between them. They had comfortable quiet before, the easy companionship that came with years of knowing each other. There were even moments of shock that had struck them dumb before, usually times Noct had managed to get hurt while training. But nothing had ever hung between them like this— filled the room like this. And as he settled down again, he smirked— amused by the racing pulse beneath his hand as he tried to return to his previous position, resting against the Glaive’s chest. “Did I finally find a way to shut you all up?”

“Oh, you are not getting away with that, little prince,” Noct wasn’t prepared for the burst of chaos once the spell was broke, once the surprise had worn off. He expected the laughter, the teasing, the jokes. He didn’t expect Nyx to pull him back up, to manhandle him into his lap, and to kiss him until they were both breathless. He didn’t expect the Glaive’s hands to move from guiding them together to holding him in place. He didn’t expect the fierceness, the the urgency, or the absoluteness of Nyx’s press against him.

He didn’t expect to respond. Noct didn’t expect to brace himself with his hands against Nyx’s broader shoulders, to respond with the same fervour for control. He didn’t expect the small whimper that escaped him when Nyx pulled away to catch his breath. He didn’t expect the soft laugh to come from him as he gasped and leaned forward, knees on either side of Nyx’s thighs, the press of the Glaive’s hands against his hips to hold him steady. He didn’t expect to want to chase that kiss even as he pressed his forehead against Nyx’s shoulder and tried to calm the rush of his own heartbeat. 

“Well,” Ignis said after a moment, “I suppose we all saw that coming.”

“Don’t think Noct did,” Prompto chirped, his grin bleeding into his voice, the movement as he stumbled off the bed to answer the soft, polite knock at the door rocking the mattress. 

“To be fair,” Noct tilted his head towards Gladio’s heavier steps as his Shield moved to help collect the lunch Ignis had asked for; “Noct has a good excuse for that.”

“I hate you all,” Noct muttered, muffled against Nyx’s throat as he refused to move from his position, refused to pull away from those warm hands. He was home and comfortable, and this was surprisingly nice. It was nice to feel the solid, reassuring form of Nyx beneath him, to have his friends settled so close and laughing and safe. To know that this room, as it was, was safer to him right now than any haven supported and protected by ancient magics. 

Nyx’s touch to his chin— the guidance to straighten again, to settle for another soft kiss, another small smile to chase after— drew Noct’s full attention back to the Glaive. “Even me, little star?”

“Especially you.”

Noct only let his attention be pulled from the Glaive and his touch, his lips, his voice, when Prompto took his hand to give him a sandwich. “So, you guys are actually a thing now? Is this a thing? Did we witness the start of something cute and romantic?”

“No,” Noct huffs, pulling away enough to protect his food from Nyx. “It’s not a thing. It’s the opposite of a thing.”

“Right.” Prompto settled back on the end of the bed, legs grossed, and Noct could feel his friends’ eyes on him. “Because it felt like we witnessed the start of a thing.”

“I’m hurt, Noct,” Nyx reached up to tear off a piece of sandwich, “I like the idea of a thing between us.”

“You do know my dad will have you executed?”

“There hasn’t been a death penalty in Lucian sentencing in three hundred years,” Iggy volunteered; “And I have the feeling that his majesty might deem this cute.”

“This is why I hate you all.”

“You two have been dancing around each other ever since you started that warp tag game. Just admit it Noct.” Gladio resettled on the couch, a book being pulled from the duffel, a plate being settled on his lap. Noct could still hear the amusement in his voice, could still tell that the man was amused by the whole show and denial. “But don’t fuck it up; Nyx is a decent guy.”

“Right, fine,” Noct huffed, “Fine, it can be a thing.”

He grumbled as Nyx pulled him close again, as Nyx pressed lips to his jaw and throat and stole his lunch from his hand. “Such a romantic, my little prince charming.”

“Fuck you.”

“Not with the audience.”


	14. Armiger Training

There was only so much they could do on their own when it came to the Royal Arms and the Armiger. There was only so much written down by the past Kings of Lucis, by their historians, by the biased voices of the past which were meant to present the Armiger to the masses rather than to the new kings and queens. The importance of their deeds and their contributions to the survival of the kingdom— the erection of the Wall, the syphoning of power from king to Crystal, actions taken in the wars against Niflheim for centuries— were easier to record, to fit into the libraries of the Citadel to offer only the best of the kings to their descendants. Ignis had spent days since their return scouring the official records and journals of the dead monarchs to find anything that might help them understand just what sort of power Noct now had at his call. He had brought stacks of what he could to the training rooms and to Noct’s rooms— eyed over the incomplete report from Cor to compare it to the lists of weapons and tombs known to the kingdom as he matched weapon to king to historian. He had searched for the voice of the dead rulers in each new record he had uncovered, and passed the details over to Gladiolus to decipher what he could about the actual techniques for battle. 

For the most part, Gladio knew how to train Noct. Weapons and handling them was the easy part, Noct’s ability to unsheathe a weapon from his connection to the Crystal had not changed. The Sword of the Wise was preferred to the Axe of the Conqueror; the sword smaller than Noct’s own Engine Blade, but far more elegant and archaic in its style. Noct was quick with the blade, faster with the lighter weight and different balance— less likely to cut and more inclined to thrust. The first sparring match with Gladio had taken them both off guard with the change— with the ‘instinct’ Noct claimed was now there, the familiarity with the weapons he could never actually have. Noct had fought against the instinct, not used to the strangeness of new movements after years of learning steps and sparring without the visual clues Gladio had— at already being at a disadvantage.

“At least a varied style will mean that you will catch enemies off guard,” Iggy had offered when they noticed the change, the frustration. “Though it may take some getting used to.” 

“It’s the old king’s soul, right?” Nyx had asked when Iggy was trying to determine a reason for Noct’s proficiency with weapons he had never held before— when the books on links to the Crystal, links to the Royal Arms, the theories that both presented and had been exhausted centuries before had proved fruitless. “That whole power lending thing probably came with some perks.”

“You don’t need to sound so worried,” Noct said during a break, as Gladio tested the Axe himself. “It’s not like there are voices telling me how to fight here, or some great unseen force pressing buttons. It’s just… There.”

“Perhaps a residual memory from the royal lending the power,” Ignis offered, noting down the differences of what Noct was saying from the texts they had managed to find. “Legend has it that the souls of the kings rest in the Crystal until the Chosen King can release them. Until that time, they pass their powers on to their heir.”

“Not much of an afterlife,” Nyx caught Noct’s hand as the prince swatted him. He smirked as he pressed a kiss to the young man’s knuckles; “Temper, little star. Can’t say I like the thought of you wasting away locked up in some glowing rock.”

“You’re an idiot, Ulric. It’s just a story.”

Ignis cleared his throat, finishing off the last of his notes before he stood; “Be that as it may, we haven’t actually seen the Armiger in action yet. Just the individual weapons. I haven’t found anything helpful in describing the full power of the Royal Arms beyond what we’ve already seen, and what few details there are about the individual weapons.”

“Maybe Noct just needs to get into a real fight for it to work?” Prompto had tried to help— the books and the language of the ancient historians too far above his own average education for now. He could identify the weapons, knew that they were steeped in the power of his friend’s bloodline, connected to the Crystal that fed magic into Noct. But they were also fairy tales he had never actually seen before. The general education system of Insomnia did not generally focus on the strange magics limited only to a handful of people when there were more concrete and accessible sciences available. “Why doesn’t this thing come with an instruction manual? Or at least a tutorial?”

“You play too many games, Prompto.”

“Perhaps I can help with that.”

It had been years since the king had strayed from his paths through the Citadel— since the carefully managed schedule and duties allowed him to venture much further than the halls from his offices and study to the throne room or conference room. His voice, and cane, echoed between the stone pillars, and Noct smiled as he turned towards his father’s voice. He could hear his friends bowing in greeting, their polite “your majesty” almost in unison, and the steady, heavy footfall of Clarus in his armour close at hand. “Dad.”

None of them had thought to go to the king for his advice, for his experience. None of them had thought to reach out beyond their little group for the expertise of the ones who had made the trip before them, who had used the same weapons they were just learning about now. They had spent years with minimal interference from the king and his court— Iggy had taken his lessons to Noct, Gladio had learnt quickly how to train others as he was still learning. Noct’s own lessons had relied heavily on the input and support of his chosen friends, even from Prompto reading off the differences in a regular education and the private one provided to the prince. From the years Noct’s training had started, the outsiders who had intruded in with their own tactics had been limited to Cor and Clarus. And the king knew it. 

Now there was an excuse for that outside interference, for the tutelage of a warrior who had known better than to just let them experiment until they found what worked for them. Who knew better than to let them follow his own path from thirty years ago and let them wander into the front lines of a losing war. Now there was an excuse for Regis to spend the hours he wanted with his son. 

Calling the weapons was easy, mastering them was something Noct knew would only take time. But calling the Armiger as it was meant to be, as Regis could show them, was another matter. There was a difference from calling a weapon into being, to feeling it moving around him, waiting for him to select it. There was a difference in simply letting the power pass through him— the three weapons tied to him through the magics he was born with forming a net to lift and guide him where he wanted to go— and letting the Royal Arms spin and shield and break the resistance of reality as they were called into being all at once. 

He had hours now, to listen to his father tell stories of his adventure out of the shadow of the city. Hours to focus on his father’s voice like he used to when he was a child, and smile as he felt the air move as his father’s own weapons worked to his will. He could hear the crystalline shatter— different from a warp, a sense of the sharpness beneath the whipping winds as his father explained his own technique. 

“Just focus,” was the common order from father to son. Repeated often as Noct would turn towards the smallest sounds, the slightest ring of noise— the footsteps from the guards in the hall which had never ventured so close so often before, the click of Regis’ cane on the stone floor, or the heavy tread of Clarus’ steps as he moved to watch and wait for some sort of accident. “Just focus on me, Noct.”

Nyx sat back with Ignis and Gladio and Prompto to watch as the phantom weapons were called into existence— sheltered on the long benches well out of the line of fire. As the light reflected off of the crystalline blades when they blinked in and out of existence around the two royals. As they seemed to only take a solid shape as needed, phasing through flesh without spilling blood, passing through each other without ever touching. 

For Regis, it was simple, it was years of being battle-ready, years of having these blades and honed edges and shields at the back of his mind. Even if he could no longer take them up the same way Noct could, with the same youthful strength or expertise, he still mastered the mental fortitude needed to command the Armiger as it was needed. He could still send the Arms hurtling towards a target, calling them into reality when the phantom blade had already moved into position.

But Regis couldn’t move like Noct. He couldn’t warp as easily now, or move as quickly. He couldn’t and needn’t— like Noct— use the shatter and chime of the phantom weapons striking obstacles to pinpoint where to go, how to move, how to slip beneath the shields of his friends. Clarus stepped into place with Gladio in a few sessions as Noct learnt to call the weapons to a spinning shield, to use them to focus on where an attack was coming from, to block and push and catch the training swords coming down on him. To use the chime of the shattering crystal to move within his own boundaries faster. 

Nyx wondered at the soft smile that crossed his king’s features at times during these sessions. During these hours when Regis instructed and Noct obeyed— as the king’s eyes softened and warmed as he watched the prince select his own Engine Blade from the Royal Arms that had been tied to him. Nyx didn’t miss the sense of pride in the king as Noct’s own weapon was retrieved from the two collected from his ancestors and the remnants of crystalline energy was shaken from the blade— faster with each session, as the Armirger was called into existence faster with each hour they spent together. He didn’t miss the smile and the softness as Noct laughed and teased and played with his friends when they joined in as the prince grew confident in his mastery over the course of just a few days with his father’s instruction.

Watching the prince move, dance, warp, fly around the training rooms— lifted by a power he had never seen used in full force— stole Nyx’s breath. It was only fair that, most afternoons, when the training was finished for the day and they had this time to rest, that Nyx stole Noct’s breath back. 

“You’re amazing, little prince,” Nyx would mutter against Noct’s lips when they had a precious few moments without Gladio shadowing them, or Ignis keeping watch, or Prompto teasing. “Such a cute little powerhouse.”

And Noct would smile against him; “Thought you were worried about me turning into a weapon, hero.”

“Well, I’m here now to remind you who you are.”


	15. Confrontation

The days of training with the Armiger had been longer than Nyx expected. There were long days of watching the prince focus on clipped, stern instructions and on the blades spinning around him. There were long hours of watching the style of fighting shift and change, as Noct’s blindness became less and less of an issue, and the ancestral weapons seemed to adapt to the shortcomings and new strengths. Nyx had watched, from the safety of the sidelines, as Noct’s warping with the Armiger became more focused, as the sourceless chimes when he called it into being around him sounded the pillars and barriers of the training rooms. He had watched Regis— with his silent arsenal forever at the ready— move from an instructor to proud parent as Noct’s own style and needs bent the power of their lineage to his will. 

There had been long days of learning what new magics the prince had access to; long hours of testing the prince with his new tricks, with the Armiger, of watching Regis teach and spar with Noct the best he could. Of watching the prince pluck crystalline weapons from the air and still be knocked back by his father’s cunning strength. 

Nyx was fairly certain that they were going to get into trouble for betting on each match between father and son. 

He had been planning, during this time, to go back to his little apartment. To take those steps outside of the tightly controlled world of the Citadel— outside of the tightly knit family that the prince and his companions had become— and just breathe in the open air for a while. He had been intending to go home for a few days, to catch up with Libertus and Crowe and find some way to grovel for forgiveness for being out of touch. He had checked his phone, but each reply and new text out died in his thoughts as he was called back into training, into games, into whatever trouble the prince and his little family had started without him. Into that mischievous smile and those clever hands.

He never thought he could be so easily distracted. 

“Oh, so you are still alive.”

The locker rooms and break rooms were supposed to be empty at the height of the shift hours. Most of the Guards and Glaives who wandered through the rooms had never stayed long, too eager to get out of the stuffy Citadel walls and back to their own respective holes in the city. Nyx remembered the way Libertus practically bolted for the door after every guard shift he was assigned. He recalled how his friend would rush through the check outs and reports, eager to get away from the Lucian wealth and the sense of undeserved safety that echoed through the Citadel halls. How he used to just laugh as he caught up to his friend in the street, and wave off the bitterness and distaste without thinking of its direction. 

“Libs! It’s good to see you,” Nyx beamed as he crossed the room to his friend, abandoning the route to the locker he had claimed ages ago; “I didn’t know you were assigned to the Citadel.”

“You don’t know a lot of things, hero. Where the hell have you been?”

It dawned on him that he had a handful of half-started texts waiting on his phone. He had a voicemail or two that he had yet to listen to, and a few days’ worth of emails to catch up on. With every false start to a reply, or glance at a name, Nyx had felt the siren call of Noct and his magic dragging his attention further and further away from his former life as just a grunt in the ranks. Dragging his attention away from the family he had brought to the city with him; “Shit, Libs, I’ve been—”

“I swear to every ancestor you have, Nyx, that if you say you were busy, I’m going to punch you.”

“On a mission?” Nyx spread his arms, attempting to placate his friend. “Look, I’ve been reassigned, Libertus. I’m probably not going back to duty with the unit.”

He had known Libertus for most of his life— they had grown up together, fought together, fought with each other— and Nyx knew what that look meant. He knew that the tightness of his friend’s jaw, the thin line of his lips, the hardness in his eyes all meant that the man was ready to fight it out if he had to. Nyx had been on the receiving end like this before, he had pushed and goaded Libertus into this kind of quiet fury, where the clenched fist was a step and a word away with connecting with his jaw. “Right. Fine. You were gonna tell us? Or leave it to the captain to break it to us.”

“I’m assigned to the prince, I didn’t know when I’d get a minute.”

“Kid doesn’t give you five minutes to make a call?”

“We were out of the city,” Nyx took a step back, a step further out of reach and every muscle in Libertus’ body tensed; “I’m probably not even supposed to be—”

“You know what, Nyx? No. Shut it. You don’t get to make excuses,” Libertus was not a small guy— but Nyx had seen him move faster than most of the other Glaives in the unit when he needed to, when the adrenaline was pumping. When he was on the attack. “You know Crowe actually asked to get Citadel duty? She stopped by your place every other damned day, just to see if you’d been home. She has a fucking protect spell on the door to alert her if you do go back. You don’t get to justify whatever the hell it is you’ve been doing when she’s been worried about you. When I’ve been worried about you!”

“Libs—”

“And you couldn’t even text? You go off and play knight to that stuck up, spoiled, little—”

“That’s enough,” Nyx didn’t care what Libertus was going to threaten him with, Noctis was off limits in this. He had watched the kid learn and train and focus more than any Glaive recruit ever had in training, and the prince was _his_. His to protect, his to look after. Noctis wasn’t a part of any of this except as part of Nyx’s excuse, and one that Libertus didn’t want to here. He had a hand on Libertus’ shoulder before he realised he had even moved. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Then fucking tell me, hero,” the nickname was always spat back at him, Libertus the only one to never buy into the talk around what Nyx could do, had done. “You go off like a goddamn lapdog and leave your family behind; we got a right to know what the hell is going on with you.”

The air rushed from his lungs as the other Glaive pushed him out of the way and into the lockers. The rattle of the metal doors echoed in the empty room and Nyx grabbed his friend’s arm on instinct, stopping himself before he could twist the arm pinning him to the line of locker doors. He stopped himself from fighting back as Libertus crowded him, pushed at him. “Back off, Libs.”

And all at once the pressure was gone and his friend was a few steps back. Just out of reach and still furious. “You know what, fine. I’m backing off. And when they get tired of you and kick you back to us, don’t come crying to me.”

Nyx glared after him as Libertus snatched up the duffel from the bench by the door. He didn’t have to resist the urge to chase after his friend as the man’s long stride had him nearly out the door before Nyx could react. Before he could decide if it was worth risking the punch he would undoubtedly get if he chased after Libertus to get the last word. “And fucking text Crowe, you ass.”

He took a deep breath and ran a hand over his hair to force himself into some sense of calm. He resisted the urge welling beneath the surface to pull his phone from his pocket and suggest a sparring match to Noct. Or Gladio. Or Iggy. They had agreed on downtime, on a few hours to forget the training and the Armiger, and take a bit of time to simplify their goals: food, some stupid movie Prompto had dug up, and a proper sleep. He had been looking forward to it, having just needed to check his old locker for the change of clothes and bag he stashed there while Iggy had confiscated laundry for the staff. 

He had been looking forward to just not thinking about any of what was going on. About dead kings and phantom weapons and the surge of magic that still burned through his veins. 

The rush of Glaives and Guards from the shift change seemed like pure chaos after the silence left in Libertus’ wake. Nyx pushed his way to the elevators once free of the crush of familiar faces and pulled out his phone. He had a half finished reply to one of Crowe’s texts still waiting to be sent. The words disappeared from the screen with a few easy gestures, and he started fresh. 

_Hey, sorry I haven’t been around. I’m_

There was confidential information that he knew could never get out. At least not without the okay from his new commanding officers; not without Clarus clearing it first. He tried again. 

_Hey, sorry I haven’t been around. You good?_

He hesitated at that, licked his lips and stepped back into a corner as a crowd of tourists got on at the ground levels— pressing the buttons for the skywalk while chatting over their maps of the building. If they glanced at Nyx, he didn’t notice. He tried the text again. 

_Hey, sorry about not getting back to you. Can we get a drink and I’ll explain everything_.

There were only two outcomes to this— either there was an acceptance and he ended up back in someone’s good graces, or Crowe blasted him over text, then killed him in person. Either way, he wasn’t getting out of this without spilling at least a little bit of blood. 

The tourists whispered amongst themselves as he swiped his security clearance to get to his floor, to even step off the elevator and start down the long halls that would take him to the private apartments another ride and level away from the prying eyes of curious citizens. He sent the text as he walked, pausing at the guards he passed on his way back to Noct’s rooms. Back to the little haven that he had taken to, isolated from the city and the people he had felt so connected too just a few months before. 

He could hear the laughter before he even got to the door. Prompto always had a louder laugh than the others, was always quick with it. 

Noctis was already sprawled out with a small pile of the treats Iggy had brought in— taking his right to first choices far too seriously. But the prince didn’t protest as Nyx settled on the sofa next to him, dragging him into a loose embrace. The familiar shutter and click of Prompto’s camera, the soft kiss to his jaw as a hand raised to search his features, to settle on his arm. 

“You okay?” Noct asked softly once they had a movie going and the treats started to disappear from Noct’s hoard. 

“Just fine, little star.”

“I know when you’re lying. You suck at it.”

He didn’t bother to bite back the smile as he tugged Noctis closer, settled the prince into his lap. “Just listen to the movie, you brat.”


	16. Crowe's Bar

“Why am I here?” Noct asked, hand tighter than normal on Nyx’s sleeve, shoulders hunched forward against the press of the crowd and the noise of the street. Nyx would stop every so often to offer more guidance than just walking as normal— the Glaive would pause as people passed, as buses let a new wave of pedestrians out into the street. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to be here.”

Nyx would stop every so often when he noticed the tension in the prince— when he felt more than saw the little limp to his step as he tensed against the twin onslaught of noise and people. He would turn them both against the crowd, shield Noct’s back with a smile and a soft, muttered description of the streets below. He would move from leading the prince deeper into the city than he had ever been and into a protective stance, his arm slipping easily around the slender form and hands meeting. On the many steps down, they’d take it slower, pressing against the rails as more impatient citizens rushed past them without seeing them as anything more than an obstacle in the way. “Since when has that stopped you?”

“Does Gladio know we’re out here?”

“Not exactly.” There was no easy way to sneak the prince out of the towers of the Citadel. They had taken side entrances and old routes, quiet corners out to the streets Nyx travelled every day— or used to, before he had more or less ended up living in the prince’s rooms. He had forgotten how busy it could get at this hour, and the press and flow of people moving from commercial districts to residences, and the rush of noises that came with it. He had forgotten what it was like to move through the same current on his way home to the tiny apartment buried deep out of sight of the Citadel. Of the stairs and the long walks, and the way the city turned from the bright and shining jewel of the Lucian crown to the tarnished and broken haven of the refugees. “But I got you.”

For a moment Nyx was glad that Noct couldn’t see the lower districts like this. He was relieved that the rust and piles of trash and cluttered nature of what could only really be called the slums of the city— the forgotten quarters— wouldn’t actually be a sight for Noct to remember. The prince would never have to see him in this element, in among the other people who could so easily offend Lucian sensibilities with their bright smiles as they hopped over trash bags from overflowing bins or stumbled from the restaurants blaring loud music out to the street in tune with shouts and greetings and siren calls for meals and services and wares, as if the concept of a closed door or a simple advertisement was something wholly foreign. He realised, far too late, that he should have asked for a meeting place closer to the Citadel— somewhere that was quieter, cleaner, with fewer glaring lights and shouting. Someplace that was further from the chaotic nature of the displaced. 

But he had let Crowe pick the bar. And the time. And she had a handful of favourites and tells that Nyx could still identify when she was pissed. 

It was early enough to be the dinner rush— the post-shift drinks and meals and the little top-ups between friends. It was the errands’ hour as people rushed to get home and then back out on the streets. Nyx remembered when he used to love this time of day. 

“I ever tell you that I used to have a bar?”

“What?”

“Not anything big or really fancy,” Nyx eased the grip Noct had on his arm off before he bruised. He directed Noct along a clear path in the sidewalk, down a quieter alley he knew would connect to the cross street they needed to get to, that would take them out next to the familiar and usually quiet patio of Crowe’s favourite restaurant. “It was actually kind of shit.”

“Well, if you were running it—”

“Funny,” a quick press of his lips to Noct’s cheek when they were out of sight of the thinning crowd, and Nyx could feel the prince start to relax. As the noise and the claustrophobia eased, Nyx could feel the way the prince moved to lean against him rather than grip him in fear. He could see the ease of tension in narrow shoulders and the softness that eased out the uncertainty of the new noises and strange sense of chaos the crowded districts brought. “But it was nice. Not as busy as this, obviously. But it worked well. We had lights everywhere, music— occasionally some band passing through who could draw in a crowd. We spent a lot of time making it work.”

“We?”

“Me and Libertus.”

“He’s a Glaive too,” Nyx didn’t remember actually talking much about Galahd with Noct— not like this, not mentioning names or friends or the real things that he had missed about the uneasy peace of the islands. He knows he never discussed the actual occupation, or his sister, or the way his friends had to drag him to safety before he was murdered by a Nif bullet. Or the way they had all left, broken and beaten and betrayed, for the lights of a safe city and the promises of a foreign king. But he also knew that Noct was a curious little brat who could probably worm out any information he really wanted from Clarus or Ignis or Cor. 

“He is,” the patio of Crowe’s preferred watering hole was decked out in strings of lights. Like every other establishment in the district attempting to stand out. The posters and advertisements for drinks and food and the strangely familiar sight of it had Nyx on guard as he led Noct closer; “We’re here.”

“You never did say why I was here, you know.”

“Adventure, sunshine.”

“Is that the fucking prince?!”

Nyx had missed Crowe where she sat watching the road— away from her usual spot beneath the brighter lights at the larger tables where she could spread out her meal and drinks. Where she normally sat, it was a true sign of her peace within the city— her back to the open road, ignoring the traffic and the noise as she laughed with her friends over too much bad food and far too many drinks. He hadn’t been looking for her in a vantage point like this; where she could see and scout and watch for him the same way she would watch for Nif garrisons and daemons, just out of the direct light of the strings of bulbs and lamps and the ever-present glow of the shining city beneath its shimmering barrier. With her back to the far corner and critical eyes trained on the road to watch for him, Nyx almost had to laugh at the expression of absolute horror and amazement at war on Crowe’s features as she stared at Noct on his arm. 

Almost. If it wasn’t for the way Noct tensed again at his side and Crowe settled on a comforting sort of murderous outrage for her features. 

“You brought the fucking prince?”

“The fucking prince can hear you,” Noct said, tone cold as he tried to assess if this was a threat that was unexpected— a drunk that could cause harm, like the last time he was bold enough to sneak out of the Citadel sanctuary— or if Nyx had planned for this. Either way, unseeing eyes were trained on the source of the noise, on the scrape of wooden chair against worn deck and the rattle of strings and wires against patio rails. Nyx could feel the call of power as Noct shifted— a subtle, soft balance of weight, a tenseness in the smaller body like a coil waiting for the release. 

“Your highness, I—” Crowe scrambled to correct the mistake— the tone, the insult. She didn’t care one way or the other about the royals, but she knew enough that there was trouble if the Crown Prince decided there was. 

Whatever apology or excuse died on her lips when Noct turned to punch Nyx in the shoulder. “You absolute ass. You’re in trouble and you want to use me as a shield?! What the hell?”

Nyx danced back a couple of steps before the next punch could land on his jaw. He caught Noct’s wrist instead, careful to school the usual smile from his voice. “Easy, little star, let me explain will you?”

“Yes, explain,” Crowe had crossed her arms, her sharp eyes critical and cold as she watched the way Nyx deflected the prince’s ire— the way her friend held those pale wrists only tight enough to restrain, not to bruise. Not to restrict. He knew she had caught the nickname, the softness to his touch, the way he stepped out of range and right back in before Noct could miss his presence. “Now, Ulric.”

“Honestly didn’t think you’d figure out I was in trouble,” Nyx muttered, a huff of a sigh leaving him as he released Noct’s hands once he felt the prince calm. Once he could see the turn of attention away from indignant anger and the focus of trying to manage the unfamiliar world return. 

“You’re always in trouble,” Noct grumbled, head tilted towards where he heard Crowe’s weight shift the old wood of the patio. “And you are?”

“Crowe Altius,” military quick, Crowe straightened under the attention, her own focus on the sightless prince rather than the friend she was fuming at; “your highness.”

“Don’t,” Noct stepped away from Nyx enough to straighten— enough to get his bearings in the strange, new situation. He could feel Nyx’s eyes on him, watching him force a deep breath to recover his sense of where he was despite still being hopelessly lost after the maze of twists and turns of the route down this far. He could taste the food on the air, and smell the stale rot of spilt drinks and sauces soaked into the wood— stronger now that he could focus rather than let the rest of the city and the distant chaos distract him. It was easier to focus on the creak of woods beneath heavy boots, and the shift of weight ahead and raised on the patio. “No titles. Just call me Noctis out here.”

Crowe caught herself before she could snap out a ‘yes, your highness’ and nodded instead, realising a beat too late that the prince wouldn’t see the gesture. “Right. Okay. Fine.”

Nyx smiled at the way Crowe flustered, wanted to revel in the novelty of the whole thing, before Noctis seemed satisfied to head towards the steps. He could hear the soft chime of the Armiger still at the ready, still ghosting in and out of existence. He could hear where the phantom weapons acted as a guide as Noct climbed the few steps of the patio, and see the confusion as Crowe’s own magic-sensitive senses caught the small crystalline noise before the power was dismissed. She reached for a chair, scraping it against the wood as Noct approached her. As Noct offered a small smile and physically separated himself from whatever plan Nyx had thought he had. 

“Nyx is paying tonight,” Noct said as he took the chair. “So order something expensive.”

“Seriously, Noct—”

“Explain, hero.”

As he passed to take the open chair next to Noct, Crowe slapped his arm and grinned through a muttered; “I like this kid.”

“Knew you would; get your damn order and add something nice for the prince. I’ll explain when we’re settled.”

The drinks came first, and Nyx told Crowe about the recruitment— about the request by name for him to be in the Citadel. About the first few days recruited to keep an eye on Noct, to offer some new training. It didn’t matter if it was classified or not, the prince filled in parts that he missed, and nothing was written down or recorded. It didn’t matter if Crowe knew, Nyx trusted her more than almost anyone; she wouldn’t let anything important slip past their little shared meal. It was over the food— as Noct wrinkled his nose at the steam and nibbled the offered portion to test the spices and flavours before deciding that it was good enough to eat (only to rush for his drink as Crowe laughed when the aftertaste burned)— that Nyx mentioned the change in his role. The shift in position from trainer to Glaive, to the rush of new, untamed power that coursed through Noct and now him without the dilution of their shared Glaive unit. Of the new oath sworn to a different royal that would separate him from his oldest friends for a while longer.

“So that’s what happened,” Crowe mouthed around a bite from her skewer. “You vanished— I couldn’t sense you with us anymore. Thought I was going crazy.”

“Yeah, saw Libs that night when I crashed at home,” Nyx recounted, not pressing on Noct’s silence over this leg of the story. “He wasn’t happy.”

“Not going to blame him,” Crowe said as she stole her next skewer from Nyx’s plate. “And going outside of the city?”

“That was me,” Noct offered; “there won’t be detail about that, just yet.”

“And ignoring texts?” Crowe asked, at least calmer now that she understood why her friend had been taken from her side. It wasn’t just the Citadel claiming another prize from outside of the Wall. 

Noct smirked, “All Nyx on that one. Not my fault.”

Crowe tossed the stolen skewer on to the plate where they had piled their trash, the meat picked clean and the vegetables left untouched; “So I can still punch him. Good.”

“Please do,” Noct’s hands traced patterns on the wet sides of his bottled drink; “Just leave him mostly intact? I kind of like him.”

“And by ‘like’ you mean…?”

“I kiss him.”

“Nyx… What the hell are you thinking?”

“Crowe, it’s—”

At the sudden movement of the table, Noctis lifted his drink to keep it from spilling and adding to the collections already soaked into the wood. He felt Nyx go down before he heard the resulting crash of the chair tipping and the heavy body of the Glaive going with it. He heard the groan before he felt Crowe get up from the table and calmly order another plate of food— sauces and breads— while Nyx dragged himself back up and snagged the still-cold drink from Noct’s hand. 

The prince could hear the smirk in the woman’s voice when she spoke again, as she resettled into her chair and set down two new drinks. Noct nodded his thanks at the one pressed into his own hand; “So, Noctis, don’t hurt him, okay? Nyx is a fragile thing. And a bit dumb.”

“I’ll look out for him, Crowe.”

“Good.”


	17. Yes

Noctis didn’t take Nyx’s arm again until he was back on the street. Until he tested the stairs off the patio without the benefit of the Armiger to chime the barriers and sudden drops. Nyx stepped down first, and Noct followed, a hand trailing the well-worn and weathered railing he hadn’t used getting up to the dining area. But he could feel Crowe’s eyes on him as he moved, as he tested the area and the steps and shifted focus from conversation to safe movement in the unknown area. She didn’t speak until he was on the sidewalk, and his head tilted towards the sound of her boots on the wooden steps, barely overshadowed by the shutters of the restaurant closing up and the dull roar of traffic that could swing in and out of existence as he needed. 

“So what was that chiming from earlier, when you were coming up the steps?”

Noct had decided that he liked Crowe. The power coursing just beneath her skin— singing through her muscle and veins and soul— reminded him more and more of his father. It was strong and burning, but he had the feeling she could handle it. Even as it threatened to consume her and turn her heart to ash. “It’s classified.”

“Right.” He felt, more than heard the way she came to a stop close to them— her back never quite to the street. Her guard never quite lowered despite the apparent safety of the city. “Classified.”

He slipped an arm around Nyx’s now that they were ready to move, and he smiled to Crowe. “Just let me know if you need to punch Nyx again, and I’ll bring him by.”

“I knew this was a mistake,” Nyx muttered, already directing them back to the street, already fishing through a pocket for his phone. “Put in a good word with Libs?”

“He’s going to kill you, you know,” Crowe fell into step with them; “He’ll like Noct later, probably. But he’s going to kill you.”

“That’s what the good word is for,” Noct could hear the smile in Nyx’s voice, feel the way Crowe shifted around him— falling out of their little formation as she chose another direction and wished them a good night. 

He smiled at the ruffle to his hair, at the ease in her voice and step and power. 

“You’re smiling, little star,” Nyx said once they had properly separated, and the full force of the district’s traffic and chaos assaulted them after rounding a corner. 

“I like her.”

“Figured you would. She’s a good girl.”

“Your family.”

“Yeah. More Libs’ though. Our little hanger-on, like Ma used to say.”

The streets widened again and the air changed. It was cooler with the space, with the constant flow of traffic and movement and the breezes chasing the current, funnelled down through the canyons of steel and glass and concrete. It was more alive in the wider streets, with the noise and music and people pouring into the night around them. And in the instant it took for them to leave the relative quiet of the little bar and side street, Noct had lost in bearings. 

Nyx smiled at the way the grip tightened on him again, “Let me just text Iggy, kitten. I’m taking you home.”

It was a few moments of walking before Noct realised that they were going in the wrong direction for the Citadel— the noise had changed, but not to the muted thrum of life that indicated the Lucian upper levels. If anything, the sense of life around them got more vibrant. Spices wafted through opened doors with the music spilling into the streets, the steady, alternating beats of bars and clubs started to pound as much in his head as in the concrete. And Noct could feel the distance from the Crystal like a tether— stretching thinner. “You said home.”

“Didn’t say which one,” Nyx paused at a doorway, phone away more than half a block ago and now fishing through pockets for his keys. “The Citadel is too far tonight. My place was closer.”

“You do know that Iggy would have come picked me up?”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, little star?”

“Curled up in a corner with my sense of survival.” He expected Nyx to let go of his arm, to climb the steps as normal, taking two at a time like in the Citadel. He didn’t expect the slow guidance forward, and the careful praise and teasing as he took the steps the same way he had moved through the trench out in Leide. A hand on the cracked wall with its rough, chipped paint, and the other gripping Nyx’s tightly. He could hear each steadying adjustment, knew from the way Nyx moved that he was taking the stairs slow and with his back to a wall. He could hear the beat of noise muted by the building and the muffled voices of inhabitants around them. Below, at street level, there was a bar— Noct knew by the shouts and thrum of music, from the flow of the street as each step took him further away. In one of the apartments, someone was shouting, another was deathly silent across the hall. 

The curled edge of carpet on the landing nearly tripped him and Nyx apologised by pulling him off balance and towards him instead. He would have protested the sudden shift in his world if not for the protective curl of Nyx’s arms around him. 

This was worse than the trenches and hallways they had wandered for his Armiger so far. It was louder, darker, more pressing than the stone of an ancient hillside and a tomb cut out at its heart. It was worse than the threat of daemons and beasts clawing through the shadows— he could fight those. He could trust Nyx to kill the threat in those situations. 

This was like that bar two years ago. The one he had insisted he visit with Gladio and Ignis and Prompto. No one in service of the crown would kill a citizen of the kingdom without better cause than a drunken assault.

Noct preferred the daemons. 

“You’re okay, Noct,” Nyx’s voice was quiet in the hallway, muttered close to his ear as his Glaive pulled him close. Another door at the world outside faded in favour of the new apartment. The new room that sensed entirely of _Nyx_. 

“I want to see it,” Noct said, pushing away from Nyx enough to regain his footing. Enough to bump into a coat rack. 

Nyx settled back against the closed door. “I’ll just wait here, then.”

The Armiger was called up as Noct moved, as the chime of magic and ethereal blades sounded with each strike to a counter, a table, a chair. Noct wandered until he was familiar with it, the little words of explanation from Nyx floating between them with each new discovery— a shelf of books, the soft edge of a bed, the clean smell of the open kitchen and the thrum of the appliances in the small space. 

“What do you think?”

“I’m pretty sure my bedroom is bigger than your apartment.”

“Kitten, your bathroom is probably bigger than my apartment.” Nyx pushed himself away from the door, stepped heavily enough to announce him intention. 

Noct dismissed his magic before he was pulled against Nyx again, before the kiss was pressed to his forehead and familiar arms were wrapped around him. “You okay?”

Noct used Nyx’s voice like a guide to catch his lips. “I’m okay, hero.”

“Good.”

Noct was used to being manhandled now— being directed and pushed and prodded to where he needed to be. He was used to Nyx’s more direct approaches, with strong hands on his hips and careful steps to guide him backwards. The muttered warning all he got before the back of his knees struck the soft edge of the bed and he let himself be pushed downward.

Those hands stayed on his hips as Nyx moved with him, as Nyx knelt in front of him. Something in his mind stuttered to a stop— and the abstract image of Nyx kneeling here, between his legs, pulled every thread of information he was trying to take in to a sudden end. His mind blanked and he licked his lips as he let his hands move to Nyx’s shoulders. “What are you doing?” 

“Nothing.” 

But Noct could hear the smile in that tone, could picture the way those soft lips curled. And he reached out to run a gentle, feather light touch across Nyx’s features. To judge how much was teasing, how much was… He didn’t know. Noct just wanted to see Nyx in this moment. To familiarise himself with the smile and the way the edge of his eye crinkled upwards with it. He wanted to think he could tell what Nyx was thinking from the way he moved and looked and the way he accepted the curious touches with a strange sort of passivity. Not the resignation of his friends, but with an easy acceptance. With a kiss to ghosting fingers in encouragement. 

“You’re blushing, kitten.”

“I’m not.”

“You are, and it’s adorable.”

“Shut up.”

“Not until you tell me what you want.”

“I…” Noct let his hand move to ghost over the stubble on his jaw, followed the line to braids and hair and back. He had an image of Nyx in his mind, all straight lines and strong edges. All soft lips and frequent smiles. A collection of traits Noct was finding that he liked. “I want to see you.”

“Might be hard.”

“Idiot. Get up here.”

Nyx pulled away from him long enough to get up, to push him further back in the bed and resettle next to him. The idea that the bed was shoved back into a nook in the wall was lost on Noct as his world narrowed down to the way the bed dipped under Nyx’s added weight, at the sound of Nyx pulling off his shirt, and the gentle guidance of his hand back to the Glaive’s broader shoulders. The world outside— with its chaos and music and the constant noise— faded under the attention he was given, under the affection and guidance, and the freedom he was now granted. 

In the quiet of the apartment, there was only Nyx’s voice, soft as he lay back and let Noct explore. Teasing as Noct stumbled across some sensitive patch, soft as scars were explained. Noct traced the spiderweb of scars across Nyx’s right side, leaning forward in focus as he sensed the remnants of the power that caused the damage. He could taste the magic in the pattern, in the break, and he could picture the way electricity would have danced over Nyx and through him at the strike. Muscles fluttered under his touch as he let his hands settle lower and he moved to kiss Nyx instead. 

“His majesty fixed that one up.”

“Don’t talk about my dad right now.”

“Got it.” There was that smile again, teasing against his lips, like how everything Nyx was teased at the edge of his senses. 

Noct pressed forward, anchoring himself in that kiss. He didn’t want teasing. He wanted Nyx’s hands on his hips. He wanted that solid, strong form beneath him, above him. He wanted Nyx. Not teasing or ambiguous or just ghosting at the edge of his mind. 

“I want you.”

He wanted Nyx to stop being passive. To move and touch and retaliate. “I want—”

The bed beneath him was soft despite how worn it felt, how rough the sheets were. The hands that had settled on his hips held him still as Nyx moved to position himself between his legs, chasing kisses and touches as sparks of new sensation flashed across his mind. In this moment, Noct wished he could see. He wished he could see the way Nyx looked like this— if he looked as powerful as he felt, if he looked as wild as his kisses and touch promised. 

“You’re gorgeous, Noct,” Nyx muttered between them, the edge of teeth on the heels of lips against Noct’s throat. “Are you sure about this?”

He wasn’t. He had settled his arms across Nyx’s shoulders, let himself lay back into the bed. He let himself try to think it through— of the consequences and the action and the whole mess of strange newness that was rushing at him. “Yes.”


	18. Morning After

It was the irregular buzz of his phone that woke Nyx up in the morning. That had him reaching for the discarded pile of clothing by the side of his bed before he even registered that Noctis was moving against him. Before he even realised that he was actually back in his own bed and pleasantly warm, with a prince whining against his back and gripping him tighter the more he twisted to reach the phone. 

He wanted nothing more than to ignore the offending device, to turn around and hush Noct— in all his clingy glory— back to sleep for a few more hours. But it was Ignis’ name on his screen, and the disapproval practically radiated from the lock screen as Nyx tried to read the text. 

_Can we expect the prince back home at any point today?_

Nyx huffed and moved to sit up, checking the time before sending his reply. 

_It’s 4am, Specs, it can—_

“If that’s Iggy,” Noct muttered, arm finally slipping back to the bed as the prince moved to sulk; “tell him to fuck off. It’s probably still dark out.”

“It’s always dark out to you, little star. Go back to sleep.”

_—wait. And his Highness is sleeping._

He would be amazed if it bought him more than two hours. If it bought Noct enough time to actually adjust to the new surroundings enough to be comfortable. If his little bit of bite staved off the Crownsguard from knocking on his door to reclaim their helpless prince. Their debauched prince. Who was already dozing again, if Nyx could tell by the even breaths and lack of whining. 

It was nice to be back in his own apartment. To roll out of bed and be practically in his kitchen. There was no use in going back to sleep now, so Nyx pulled on the boxers discarded in the pile of clothes from last night and navigated his little apartment by memory alone. In a few hours, there would be talks and plans and he would need to bring Noctis home— back to the disapproval of Ignis. To the vague planning stages of another trip out for more of the Royal Arms. To reports and promises and long hours of trying to see just how much power was building up in the prince now that he’d had some practice. 

In a few hours, there would be the long trek back to the safety of the Citadel and a strange life that was quickly becoming more and more comfortable. 

But first, he needed a coffee. 

“You’re too loud.”

“Go back to sleep.”

From his vantage point in the kitchen, Noct very well could have been sleeping. The blankets were pulled around him, his eyes were closed, his hair a mess of dark around him. But there was that little smirk— the soft challenge always on Noct’s lips— and he moved enough to let those blankets pool around his waist, his hips, and Nyx was almost tempted to get back into bed himself. “You expect me to sleep in this squalor?”

“You can’t even see the mess.”

“But I can smell the coffee.”

“Come and get some, then.”

And there was that pout, that little stretch as Noct’s sightless eyes fluttered open and he shifted again. The prince pulled himself up in the bed, and cast the blankets aside; “I can’t believe you expect me, a blind and helpless prince, to risk navigating your apartment.”

“I’m just enjoying the view, little star.”

“Please tell me it’s a good one.”

“A very good one.” 

Noct didn’t call up the Armiger to guide him, to let him know about any obstacles or barriers. He stumbled over the clothing while Nyx snickered at the recovery, at the way the glare was turned on him despite knowing that there was never any malice behind it. “You okay there?”

“Fuck you.”

“There’s time for that.” Nyx took pity on Noct enough to wrap the discarded blanket around Noct’s shoulders before guiding him to the table. “Coffee will be ready in a minute.”

Noct hummed in acknowledgement, hand drawing idle patterns on the table. Before long, there was a warm mug pressed into those hands, and Nyx let the second chair scrape the floor as he sat down with his own. The Glaive couldn’t help but admire the view that Noct made— that pretty picture of sleep-mussed features and gentle bruises drawn out the night before by his lips. 

“You’re staring.”

“Hard not to,” Nyx couldn’t help it. He had to reach out to Noct, to remind himself that the other man was right there. In the dim light of the morning, he was glad for the prince’s blindness, for the fact that he could openly admire the way the prince’s hair tangled in what was practically a halo around him, and the softness of his features despite the very solid form of his body. That he could openly admire the lack of shame in the prince, and his ease moving around as he was, at his comfort in the little apartment. “You’re kind of cute.”

“You’re sentimental.”

“Damn right, I am.”

“Iggy’s going to kill you.”

“Probably. But only because I’m not feeding you anything remotely healthy for breakfast.”

It wasn’t long before they were out on the street again, making their slow way back towards the Citadel. 

The streets never really quieted in Insomnia— the people only changed here and there. A whole new crowd took to the streets this early in the day, all rushing towards the same destinations in the centre of the city. All ignorant of the sleepy prince carefully guided by the Glaive holding his arm. The trains rumbled along easily, the mechanical voice calling out familiar stations and streets and cross sections of districts a strangely comforting note of familiarity as Nyx shielded Noct from the rest of the commuters. 

He settled Noct on a seat near the door and stood between the prince and the crowd, smiling as he talked through the commute softly. Half-bent over despite his grip on the little loop of plastic serving as a handhold to steady himself with the movement of the train and the crowd, he watched the crowd while describing the silly transit advertisements to Noctis. His voice drowning out the rush of people coming and going and the ever changing air as the doors pulled open and close with each new wave of commuters, until they reached the Citadel Plaza stop.

The trip back— in the breaking light of day, as the streetlights on the upper levels of the city, in the higher Lucian districts petered out and the offices around the central lines seemed to spark back into life— passed much more quickly than the trip down to meet Crowe. The trains ran in a faster cycle, a tight circuit to accommodate the people coming and going through homes and offices at the height of rush hour. The signs and announcements all announced delays and re-routings, detours put in place around the congestions of the city heart. 

“Remind me to bring up accessibility to dad,” Noct said while they were on the stairs leading up to the street. “Some elevators would be nice out here.”

“There are some, somewhere,” hand on Noct’s arm, he led the prince around to the side entrances— to the quiet ones, away from the line of tourists waiting for the front gates to open. It was easier to slip past the crowds at the front plaza— the reporters and tourists and those all vying for some attention for whatever the latest royal announcement was. He smiled off the look of shock from the Crownsguard on duty when Noct was recognised, and had them halfway to the royal apartments before the realisation that Ignis was definitely not going to be happy with him set in. 

The lower levels of the Citadel were a still a rush of activity. Despite the ease of the transition from street to royal chambers, there seemed to be more guards, more activity, more chaos. 

It was almost expected to see Ignis in his usual seat by the desk, city papers spread out across the surface, what was probably his third coffee in hand. 

It wasn’t expected that the man barely glanced up at them as they slipped in through the heavy doors and Noct headed straight for the smell of fresh coffee. That Ignis barely protested as his mug was stolen from his hand. 

“Am I right in guessing that you both missed the news last night?”

“What news?” Noct grumbled, still reeling from the rush of the trip in. From the excitement and activity and the strangely vibrant air around the Citadel. 

“The Glaives escorted an emissary of Niflheim into the city late yesterday evening;” Ignis offered one of the folded papers to Nyx— where the headlines were raised in big, bold letters. Where the explanations and speculations were imposed over vague articles that amounted to little more than rumours. “A press release was sent out just before dawn; there has been a ceasefire declared in order to negotiate peace with Niflheim.”


	19. Quick Summons

The summons had come quickly, as expected. They came on the promise of meetings and the tail end of trepidation. Noctis felt the hallways that were usually empty clear as he walked them, as he quashed whatever sense of dread that had been building up since Ignis had explained the whole situation. 

The influx of people— guards, nobility, soldiers— in the usually quiet hallways of the royal apartments was nerve wracking. He resisted the urge to trace the gilded work along the hallway walls as he listened to the new voices echo against the stone. As he heard them die down as he approached, as if he could tell who was speaking or where they were once he was in their line of sight. He hadn’t felt a press of people in his home like this since he was injured, since there were well-wishes and condolences, and people spoke over him as if he wasn’t sitting right there. 

He can’t remember a commotion like this that wasn’t restricted to the throne room or the conference rooms of the lower levels. 

This was new, and loud, and there were far too many people for him to trust more than the familiar presences at his back.

“You can’t be serious.”

He had listened to his father’s plan, his demands. His version of events that slotted easily with what Ignis had told him. Straight-backed in the chair across the desk from his father, he knew he had failed at masking his tension at the invasion of people into the apartments. And now he could barely contain the immediate dislike for this plan.

“Noctis—”

“You’re sending me away from the city? Now? When the most important meetings in the history of the kingdom are about to happen?”

Noctis had always trusted Ignis as his eyes in these sorts of situations. To pick up on the cues Noct couldn’t see— the fidgeting, the concerns, the anger, anything that could change his approach. He shrugged off Ignis’ hand on his shoulder this time, and tried to focus on his father’s silence. On the pauses and the breaks when the proposal— the order— was given. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing you don’t need to know.” Noctis followed the sounds of his father moving, tracked the path marked out by those halting footsteps and accompanied cane. He tilted his head towards the familiar sounds, knowing that he was probably a picture of fury despite the focus. “But there are going to be months of meetings and negotiations going into this and—”

“And you don’t want the kingdom’s weakness around.”

“I don’t want you a target if things go wrong, Noctis.”

“They approached us for peace. They—”

“It could be a trap, little star,” Nyx’s voice was soft by his side, a careful interjection where even Ignis had held his silence; “They could be coming in with the idea that His Majesty’s guard will be focused on you.”

“So I’m a liability.”

“Certainly not,” Ignis from his other side, and he could tell that his friend was focused on the king, not him. Judging reactions on little cues he had come to know in the king. “But you are the easiest target if an enemy is hoping to control the kingdom. And—”

“All I’m hearing is that I’ll be useless in this situation or a liability as my dad’s weakness.”

He had lost track of where his father was, had heard only the warning of the cane closer than he thought, before his father’s hand was on his shoulder. “You are not a weakness to the kingdom. But you are my weakness. And I will not have you placed into a position where you might be hurt because of— as Clarus will put it— my stubborn refusal to co-operate.”

He didn’t know if it was the warm weight of his father’s hand on his shoulder, or if it was the tired smile in his voice. But Noctis relented. The voices from the hallway were still echoing around the stonework outside, no doubt trying to predict the latest development, the latest royal spat. No doubt that the first rumours to need tending would paint him as wholly disinterested in the peace talks, or too helpless to consider them.

But he trusted his father.

“Fine. How is this going to work?”

There were papers on the desk that Ignis gathered— no doubt plans and requests that had not yet had time to be translated for him. He heard Nyx move the few paces to Ignis’ side to read over his shoulder, to look over what his father was already aware of. 

“Cor will return to the Citadel, but the Glaives who have joined him on this mission will meet you in Lestallum. The official story that will be presented is the truth,” Regis patted his son’s shoulder before the desk creaked as he leaned back against it; “you and your retinue are still touring the kingdom as part of your royal duties.”

“So we’re still collecting the Armiger,” Nyx said, as the rustle of papers passed from Ignis to the Glaive. As they shared the stack between them to make some sense of the new orders. “But without the map and reports ahead of time.”

“Yes,” the king agreed, knowing how it must sound to send them out into the wilds with less preparation than before. “The Captain will be the one checking in on you from time to time. But he will be scouting for blockades more than for the tombs.”

“Drautos out of the city? He’s going to love that.” Nyx muttered. “Weekly reports, Majesty?”

“I can handle those,” Ignis said, the rhythmic tap of the papers against the desk noting to Noctis that they were done reading the orders and plans, that he would be filled in on details later. “Am I right is assuming that you would prefer honest reports in regards to feedback for the treaty?”

“Where possible, Ignis. Where Possible.”

There was the briefest pause, Noct could feel it hanging between them. They were caught somewhere between the formality of the study and the reminder that these were a father’s plans to protect his son. Noct wondered at the weight of the quiet and offered a smirk as he broke the silence himself— antique chair moving across the floor as he pushed himself up, as he reached for the back of the seat to know where it was. “I’m taking Prompto again.”


	20. Preparations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really sorry on the delay for this.

When Cor returned to the Citadel, it was barely noticed or acknowledged. The man simply slipped back into the disrupted routine of daily life, amid the chaos of preparations to host the negotiating delegate from the Empire. The Marshal’s presence went unnoticed in the hallways— another set of determined, crisp steps echoing in the halls. Between greeting dignitaries at his father’s side and making his own preparations to leave, Noctis only realised Cor had returned when he felt the man like a familiar shadow at his father’s back. Between meetings and appearances, Noctis could sense his uncle in the peripheral of the activity that had flooded the Citadel, skulking at the edges of the rooms, in quiet talks with the Guards and Glaives pulled into guard duty in the heart of the kingdom to carefully herd the Niflheim visitors away from more sensitive rooms. 

But he still jumped in surprise when Cor caught his arm to lead him away from one of the meetings. Despite the crowds, he had been given plenty of room to move on his own, and a guiding touch within his own home was a shock Noctis still wasn’t prepared for. He had sensed the visitors parting for him, keeping with the observed habits of the Citadel staff and staying out of his way as he moved through familiar halls. Often with a hand on his arm or back for show until the right corner was turned or a door was closed. 

He wasn’t used to being guided and moved liked a docile doll that had been dragged out and presented like a toy to the visitors. 

He wasn’t used to keeping his mouth shut and playing along with the perceptions of their enemies. Even if he understood the need for it. 

“You’re doing great,” Cor muttered as he directed them away from the conference room. Away from the flurry of activity as the meeting ended and the corridors were filled with people and assistants and the hushed chatters of reactions to demands. “Hear anything interesting?”

There were images to maintain, while Noctis was still in the Citadel for all of this. Woven into the sense of decorum, there were expectations, tidbits of carefully guarded information that had never reached the Niflheim experts and spin doctors. There were illusions to keep firmly in place— Noctis’ role as the weakened heir to the throne was one of them. His inability to function without Advisor and Shield and Glaive was carefully constructed and reinforced— parts played and griped about later, when there was no risk of prying eyes and ears to catch them again. 

When they were away from the visiting dignitaries who seemed to think that being blind also meant that Noctis must be deaf. 

“They’re all idiots.” Ignis’ small huff was enough to get him smirking, even as he tracked the corners and twists to quieter places Cor was taking them, far from the carefully placed guards. Gladio’s deeper chuckle, Nyx’s snicker, however just encouraged the assessment. “Iggy’s been keeping reports.”

“I’ve been getting them.” Cor stepped away once they were away from the threat of Niflheim eyes. Across a threshold not crossed by the Imperial guests and guarded by the familiar forces of Glaives and Guards at specific intervals. “Is there anything you noticed that could be a threat?”

People liked to talk. Particularly around those who they thought couldn’t understand them. Especially around those they saw as harmless due to age or disability or both. The Niflheim Governors, with their small armies of assistants and guides and dedicated servants brought in from their own home, all liked to talk. They liked to chatter amongst themselves while Noctis sat at the same table— while they waited for someone more “important” than the blind Crown Prince of Lucis to tend to them or start the conversations. The small army of attendants brought with them liked to compare notes and assessments and the carefully curated plans presented to them, often while ignoring the seemingly sullen prince running hands over thick sheets of embossed paper while he listened. They liked to whisper about rumours and stories, with the distaste Noct could sense directed towards him. 

“None so far, Marshal,” Ignis had years behind him of picking up on the little mutterings of the staff. Of compartmentalising it all into neat little assessments to address later, if need be. Though most domestic complaints didn’t border on threats of treason and treachery. And most Citadel staff now knew better than to vent their frustrations around him. “But they do lack a sense of political discipline for a nation that prizes and inflicts its military standards on everything.”

Noctis nodded his agreement, fully aware of what the Marshal was looking for; “There hasn’t been anything too obvious. Most of them just complain about the food or view or weather. Or just some petty shit.”

“No pleasing some Imperials,” Noctis could hear the smile in Cor’s voice at that. “When are you leaving?”

“Another week,” Ignis offered, pages of reports shuffling in his hands as he shifted the tablet he had been carrying lately to the front. “Lestallum is our first stop, but the scheduling isn’t set in stone.”

There was barely a shift in the air at whatever response Cor gave to that, but the heavy hand on his shoulder was a familiar acknowledgement. Noctis turned towards the shuffle of clothing— the heavy fabric of a uniform— and tried to bite back the dread still eating at him. They were being sent away for the critical moments— for the final negotiations, protected before anything really big could happen as a result. It didn’t matter if it was for him to gather his Armiger, that was just the most readily available excuse to send him off with. For the Imperials who were curious or questioning, they would be fed the story that Noctis was gathering feedback from the rest of the kingdom— from the territories already familiar with the Imperial rule of law. 

He was being sent away because even Cor sensed a threat in the Citadel. 

“Cor, you’ll keep an eye on Dad, right?”

“Don’t worry about that, Noctis.” There was still an image to maintain in the Citadel. Even as they gathered supplies and prepped the Regalia for another trip beyond the safety of the Wall; as they worked through what few plans they could make ahead of time, without contact with the Glaives already out there. Cor being back in the halls of the Citadel while the Nifs made themselves comfortable was as much of a guard as diplomacy would allow for now. “I have his back.”

“Good,” was all Noctis could manage before he swallowed back the thought that something might go wrong. 

“The kingdom is in good hands, Noct,” Ignis said once they were moving again. Once Cor had disappeared down one of the many halls with his steady steps that would take him back to wherever the next meeting was. Back towards wherever the threat could be. “We have other things to occupy ourselves with.”

“I know.”

Noctis steadied himself, trailing a hand along familiar patterns and imperfections in the stonework as he walked, his friends quiet behind him. He only had a week now. A week to review the last reports received, and trust that the Glaives that Cor had left in the field would have more when they met in Lestallum. A week to trust that every preparation was being made without him underfoot, or in his father’s focus. If he was out of the city, then his father wouldn’t need to worry about him. Wouldn’t need to hesitate if the order to retreat away from their home was implemented. If the worst— 

“Easy, little star,” Nyx muttered, resting a hand on the small of Noctis’ back. “It’s fine. Everything is fine.”

He nearly flinched at the touch to his cheek as Nyx swiped stroked a thumb beneath his eyes. “Shit. I wasn’t.”

“You were,” the tone was there, the promise of teasing later. Later when there weren’t any more appointments for the day. 

Gladio’s rough hand to the back of his shoulder pushed him forward a step, closer to the rough material of Nyx’s uniform. Closer to the familiar spells woven into the fabric. “I say you start crying at the next Nif who’s an ass. Really make them squirm.”

“Shut up, you dick.” The turn and shove in Gladio’s general direction was half-hearted. An aborted scowl as Nyx pulled him away from the familiar habit of following the line of the wall and closer. Until his attention narrowed down to the comforting rumble of a chuckle building in Nyx’s chest and the scratch of armour singing with magic. 

“I’ll make your excuses, Noct,” Ignis chimed, smile touching his own voice. “I’m sure you’d rather a break from all this tedium.”

“You love it, Specs,” Nyx said over Noct’s head.

“As much as you’ve enjoyed intimidating those Nif bodyguards, Ulric.”

“It’s not intimidation if I’m just standing there.”

“Glowering, if I recall.”

Gladio hummed his agreement; “I’m siding with Nyx on this one, Iggy. It’s not our fault if those poor excuses for guards can’t handle themselves.”

Noctis shrugged out from Nyx’s touch, trying to follow the idea that someone was actually intimidated by Nyx. Nyx, who had the habit of standing on his right during meetings, while Gladio sat to his left and Ignis took notes with the aides. Their footsteps echoed in the halls as they started to move again, deeper into the private apartments. “What, exactly, have none of you been telling me?”


	21. Reconciliation

The progression of the week was like a countdown looming over them. Among the endless line of meetings and questions Noctis was expected to be a part of— plans to introduce the Gil to Insomnian currency, plans to restart development of the buildings that had fallen to ruin in the thirty years since the Wall was withdrawn, plans to dissolve the borders while the politicians danced around the real issue on the table— there were preparations to finish for the trip back out beyond the Wall. Despite the importance of it, none of them wanted to pay attention to the politics of the treaty. Even as it filtered through conference rooms and into the hallways, and the tourist crowd visiting the lower levels in heavily controlled groups let the whispers and rumours pass through them. Even as the entire Citadel was buzzing with news and developments and theories passed between tightly bound and guarded corridors.

At least they still had the sanctuary of Noct's rooms. 

An isolated corner of the Citadel to make their plans and pack and test the limits of Noct’s power to store whatever they needed. Where they had spread out across every table and section of floor they could with maps and lists; the heavy, embossed pages for Noct set within easy reach of the bed where he had started making a nest while everyone else worked around him. At least until he was called away for a meeting or event, some welcome or lunch, usually with Ignis by his side and Gladio at his back. 

They had the quiet of the Citadel royal apartments to pretend that the place wasn’t swarming with enemies. 

Prompto had been delivered to the Citadel by Cor the day before, given a security pass that would set him apart from the multitude of foreign visitors and tourists, and put through a refresher on basic training while Noct was forced to hold back on sparring. He had slotted easily into their preparations and work— their daily meetings and research, like the last cog in their machine— only held back from attending the meetings and negotiations. And often in Gladio’s company as he was brought back up to speed. 

It had been days since Nyx had left the chaotic little world the Citadel had become. 

He had been dragged from meeting to meeting like Noct, part of a dedicated guard no one questioned. He had stood at attention while the officials he knew only in name from their ruin of Galahd shared what they thought were clever jokes and pleasant chatter with their Lucian hosts, and ignored the wary looks he received when someone recognised him, or at least where he was from. He honed in on Noct in those events, as the prince manoeuvred the politics he wasn’t used to, and took shelter in his father’s better experience. As Ignis played his part like he was born to it, leaning down to fill Noct in on missed information or visual cues, often loud enough to remind the Nif standing opposite of proper manners and Noct’s station, and the calm quiet fury that came when either was ignored. He watched for signs of Nif treachery with every step and adjustment, and whispered words offered from an attendant in a meeting to clarify or redirect the way a talk was going. He watched for weapons among the guard and bit his tongue when someone dared to insult the Crown Prince within his hearing. 

It took three days of the preparations and meetings before he had to duck out and into the city. Before the frustration built up enough that he needed the break and the fresh air and the distance from the politics.

At least that was the kind of chaos he was used to. 

There were no political motivations out there; no stuffy politicians and governors, or closed doors. He trusted Gladio and Iggy to look after Noct as they always had, guiding him from meeting to meeting and not letting him get swept up in the worst of it all. He trusted them to ensure Noct decompressed after a long stint of listening to liars even the prince could see through.

And for now, Nyx needed to escape. 

The city rose around him in steel and glass towers, the smothering blanket that was the shadow of the Citadel lifted as he ducked into the warren of the more familiar districts. The neon signs rose and fell— projected warnings and advisories between advertisements and news across screens and windows— around the streets as he moved through them, following the flow of traffic. The whole city was still buzzing with the talk of the treaty, the political surveys and questions, the commentaries and excitement. He could hear more divided opinions just walking three blocks than he could sitting in a meeting between the Nif negotiators and their own King.

He vowed to take Noct out at some point before they left; before that countdown reached its end. Before the politics and plans could weigh too heavy on him, or the cabin fever of being locked away in the towering Citadel could eat away at him. He decided, as he wandered past the familiar little pedestrian strip of shops and cafes, that Noct needed another ice cream run. 

They were all looking forward to the open road and the promise of being away from the city again. Though they were coming across Royal Arms that were far beyond Noct’s reach, the excitement for the adventure was enough to fan their bravado. 

“Oh look who it is. They let you off leash, hero?” 

Libertus practically spat the words to him as Nyx approached the little market. There were a few turned heads, but people this low in the city had better things to do. The only news filtering down this far came by way of travel advisories for the other sections— warnings to avoid the heart of the city, or the port districts, or where traffic had snagged somewhere. News of the negotiations and treaties had to be searched for here; the news wasn’t inflicted on the citizens who had the softest voices. 

“Libs—” 

“I talked to Crowe.” Libertus tended to keep himself busy when not on duty; he had a set routine of hobbies and interests, volunteer commitments and lessons. Today it looked like he was coming back from a community centre, Nyx knew the way his friend’s shoulders relaxed after a few hours teaching scrappy kids of refugees how to fend for themselves. He knew that duffel bag Libertus carried everywhere when he wasn’t working. “She thinks you being an ass is justified.”

“She’s more forgiving than you.”

“She punched you, didn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

“Going to punch me too, big guy?”

“I should.” Shifting the bag on his shoulders so it rested more comfortably, Libertus turned towards home. Nyx fell into step next to him. The old rhythm a habit now, no matter how much they tried to deny it, even in the narrow and crowded streets of the Lucian city. “But you never learn.”

The argument sounded weak, even to Nyx; “I’m helping, you know.” 

“How? I’m still seeing half of these kids starving down here. The other half keep asking when their moms and dads are getting back from the front lines. And those are the lucky ones who even know their folks made it out of Galahd.” Libertus indicated a screen broadcasting the news, secured among the myriad of flashing billboards and advertisements— captions scrolled across the screen faster than anyone on a commute could read, faster than anyone who had learnt Lucian as a second language could pick up; “We’ve seen all this before, Nyx. Remember how the Nifs started with talks back home? It didn’t go their way—”

“Libs—”

“—So they burnt it all down. You think Lucis is going to get it any easier?”

“It’s different here,” Nyx wanted to defend the city, the king. Noctis. He wanted to spill everything about what he had overheard in the hallways of the Citadel and what he had seen in the conference rooms. He wanted to reassure his friend that the Nifs weren’t proposing the impossible here, they were sitting down and talking as best they could. “They can’t just roll over Lucis.”

“Like they did with us? How long before that pretty little prince up in the tower is telling us to welcome the bastards that burnt our home, Nyx?”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Like hell—”

“It’s not.” Nyx knew that same fear, he understood where his friend was coming from, just as he had understood Crowe’s fury. “Look, I’ve been up there, okay? And Noc— the prince isn’t a pushover. He’s not going to sacrifice people for this.”

If he had noticed the slip, Libertus said nothing about it, just letting the familiar sidewalk guide his way back to his front door. Nyx hung back on the pavement as Libertus fished keys out of his pocket and opened the lobby door; he held back as he tried to judge how welcome he was in the old routine, in following Libertus up the narrow steps and sharp turn of the hall until he was practically dragged into the apartment that was more spacious than his own. He tried to wait, and see, just how forgiving his friend was. 

“You coming up for a drink? Or you gotta get back to being their pet Glaive.”

Nyx offered a smile and took the invitation; “You should see the collar they got me. Has my name on it and everything.”

“Crowe said you were up to something with the prince.”

“Ignore the collar thing then.”

“Never knew you were into that, hero.”

The apartment was as Nyx remembered— steadfast Libertus was never one for frivolous change. The only recent addition was the line-up of familiar clan shields from Galahd, the colours and the beading a little worse for wear, but mostly intact and waiting to be restored or hung on the wall with the rest of the artifacts collected from markets and sales and the piles of leftovers tossed out during the moving dates on most of the streets of the district. Libertus had spent years collecting what he could, and restoring what was needed. Nyx had seen the man work wonders on all the castoffs of their people; he could see his friend teaching Prompto how to do all the busy work needed for these little restorations. 

He could see Prompto laughing with the paints and beads, bent over the work table while something far too spicy for Lucian tastes was brought to life in his friend’s kitchen. 

Nyx wished he could risk the introductions needed to bring his little family together. 

“Found some of your beads the other day,” Libertus said as he dropped his back by the door, toeing off his running shoes as he left Nyx to his poking around. “They’re in decent shape.”

Nyx spotted them on the table that had been shoved against the far wall in the open living room, the Ulric purples and blues lined up on a thin leather cord. “Where did you get these?”

“Salvage shop,” a drink was pressed into his hand as he looked for the familiar markings— the little lines and cuts that usually marred his clan’s beads. “Take ‘em, if you want.”

“You don’t need them for anything?”

“Like what? I’m not about to go around pretending to be you. Take them.”

“Thanks,” bottle necks of their drink clinked together as Nyx pocketed the string of beads. 

They were three drinks and a plate of stir fry in when Crowe showed up and demanded to be fed. Six drinks and plenty of laughter before Nyx stepped out to let Noct know that he wasn’t coming back to the Citadel for the night. That he’d catch up with them in the morning. And for a few hours, he felt like he was at home again. 

At least until they had the bad taste to check in on the news and see the Niflheim Chancellor being delivered to the Citadel front steps. The ticker line below the footage promising a momentum in the negotiations. Promised a movement to talks about the territories under dispute, about the lands fighting for sovereignty— or at least an ease of control under the Imperial boot. Nyx sat bolt upright at the footage as it looped to the narrative of the excited broadcasters, the message of hope for peace muted by the image of Noctis stood— in formal attire and flanked by Ignis and Gladio— on the steps to greet the Chancellor himself.


	22. Creep

“Oh, it has been so long since I had the chance to wander these hallowed halls.”

“I wasn’t aware that you had visited before, Chancellor,” Noctis kept his voice and his step steady, trying to focus on the familiar halls and not to reach out for the old guides along the walls he once used. He tried to listen for Ignis and Gladio, their heavy steps always nearby, always predictable. Unlike the noise and uniform chaos of the foreign governors and visitors and now the erratic steps of the Chancellor. 

And they were erratic. He stepped lightly at times, his voice a few feet from where Noct had placed him before. Others he varied his steps— pausing, hurrying, stepping around patterns decorating the stone. The flow of his clothes threw Noct off, had him keeping his distance as he heard the movement of a heavy coat, a strange flutter of some decoration that must have been draped over one arm. 

Ignis had tried to lean in as he always did; to explain what the noise was, what the strangeness of the sounds were as they fluttered and echoed in the hall, with no set rhythm to them that Noct could at least try to predict. 

The Chancellor interrupted each and every time, with a movement or hum, a noise or shift that demanded Noct’s focus; “Do call me, Ardyn, your highness. Ardyn Izunia, at your service.”

“You mean the service of the Empire,” Noct tried not to bristle at the break in routine. Even the most callous of the Niflheim governors had at least allowed Ignis to step in. They had almost revelled in the idea of seeing the weakness of the Crown Prince for themselves. “I was under the impression that you were here to negotiate against Lucis’ position.”

“It’s a shared goal, your highness,” he could hear the smile in Ardyn’s voice. It seeped into his tone, insincere and unsettling, though Noct could not place what was wrong. Not without a better understanding of the man. He heard the slide of the elevator doors and set himself in a more familiar position; his back near the wall, the reassurance of Gladio’s presence to his right. “I promise you that.”

Gladio’s familiar bulk shifted as he stepped away from his usual place. The Chancellor moving to Noct’s right to displace his friends rather than taking the opening to his left. Noct fought the urge to take a step away, the presence of the man too close for comfort. They had been lectured once already on showing courtesy to the Chancellor. On picking their battles. 

Noct was certain that Nyx would not have let himself be moved. 

The opening to the foyer outside of the throne room was almost a breath of fresh air compared to the elevator. Even the stuffiness of the seating room, crowded as it was for the past few weeks, was almost cavernous after the close quarters of the elevator. And Noct moved quickly, intent on being rid of this pest he had been told to tend to. He knew that the room was full, that there were reporters and other staff, politicians and visitors alike— he could hear the sudden hush in their voices as he entered. He could hear the words die on their lips as the Chancellor stepped forward. As the man strode forward before Noct could gain his bearings. 

He summoned the Armiger to keep up, listening for the little chimes as he moved forward with the same intent and purpose. As he let the faint crystalline ring of the phantom blades guide him. Though he paused as they seemed to strike against one another— as he heard a conflicting ripple through his magic as if he was back in the training room, testing boundaries against his father’s Armiger. 

As the door to the throne room opened, he thought he caught Ardyn mutter a soft “clever” before those sure steps and heavy boots strode forward and the man introduced himself to the room.

“Your majesty,” Ardyn’s voice filled the cavernous room, echoing in the shadows until Noct could hear almost nothing else. He stayed back by the door, ready to duck out as soon as he could. Ardyn moved forward towards the throne, and the shadow of his presence seemed to move with him. For the moment, Noct was left by the wayside, cast away from the Chancellor’s attention like a boring doll in favour of a better toy ahead; “So lovely to be back in this jewel of a city. And so considerate of your prince to greet me.”

Noct slipped back through the door before he had to listen to more of the man’s talk, now free of the shadow that had put him off balance. Ignis was once again a familiar presence to his side, though stiff and curt in his steps as he followed Noct out one of the side doors to escape to the quieter halls off limits to the guests. Gladio was once again a force at his back, rumbling his disapproval once they were free from the crowds gathered to witness the meeting of King and Chancellor. Once they could breathe easy and Noct reached out to feel for the familiar patterns on the walls, pausing by a window to calm himself of the suffocating anxiety he hadn’t been aware of. 

“What a thoroughly unpleasant man,” Ignis offered. 

The smile in response was more of relief to be free of that attention. Free of that helpless sensation— a step behind and struggling to catch up. He could sense his friends closer now— Ignis still steadfast at his side, Gladio at his back.

“That’s one way to put it,” Noct agreed, nodding his reassurance as he felt Gladio’s heavy hand on his shoulder. “You good?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Noct straightened in the quiet, still hearing the fuss beyond the nearest door. The grandstanding, the applause, the rush of reporters in the foyer trying to gather what he could. He just knew that this was going to end badly. He kept a hand on the wall, grazing over the familiar patterns etched into the stone as he started back towards more comforting routes to his rooms. 

Ignis fell into step at his side, righting the world around him; “Nyx should be back in the morning. But you do have to attend a meeting with the Chancellor tomorrow. And there’s the dinner tonight.”

“After all that, I still need to be diplomatic.”

“Don’t get smart, Noct.” There was a familiar smile to Ignis’ voice, though. “I’ll try to get a copy of the itinerary for you made. I would rather avoid surprises from that man where possible.”

Gladio huffed an agreement and reached around Noct for the door— the private halls, the elevators that were barred from the public, were far less suffocating than where the crowds had gathered. “I’ll talk to Dad about getting a few more Glaives up here while we’re gone. The Captain is out in the field with the two we’re meeting.”

“Ask for Crowe Altius,” there was a warmth to the hallways of the royal apartment, and Noct knew he was home. Deep in the Citadel where even royal guests couldn’t venture. “She’s one of Nyx’s friends.”

“Altius? Yeah, I know about her a bit.”

“I’ll ask Nyx for his suggestions,” Ignis offered. “I’m sure he has a laundry list of suitable Glaives to stand in for Captain Drautos’ usual duties. At the very least someone he trusts to ease the Shield’s burden during this mess.”

They had until the scheduled dinner to avoid the new arrivals. A few hours to ignore the strange shadow moving around the Citadel with all the finesse of a stage actor, and just plan for their trip out beyond the Wall. They were packed and prepared, with Ignis handling most of the daily necessities and Gladio scouting the Havens from his maps alone. They had been assured that there were hunters friendly to Cor who knew they were coming, and that the roads should be quiet with all eyes on the Citadel. 

The cover they had still stood, now more necessary than ever. With the discussions of the annexed territories coming to the front of the negotiations, there was a new pressure for public input. And Noct knew that most of the reports Ignis would be sending back would not need to be fluffed out to supplement what little feedback they could get. The first target was always going to be the Royal Arms— to collect his heritage before some aspect of the treaty prevented it. But the talk of the treaty— any rumours or support they could gather would be taking more than just an excuse to get him out of the city during the sensitive meetings. 

Dinner came too soon, and Prompto wished them luck with the whole affair before they left him in Noct’s room to tinker with some new gun he had been working on with Cor’s input. 

At the table, Noct sat next to his father as expected. Regis acting as a buffer between his son and the visiting Chancellor, directing the talk away from business of the treaty for as long as possible. Noct could hear the steel in his father’s voice, the rise of ire around the visitor’s flippant chatter. He could sense the people that had joined them— Clarus and the Council, his own friends nearby, the guards posted around the room from both sides, and the Governors happy to squabble for the king’s attention while ignoring the prince. But the Chancellor was a shadow at the table— a loud, chattering, chaotic shadow Noct couldn’t pin down. 

Between courses, he felt his father’s hand on his arm. A subtle, reassuring touch. Joined with a soft “relax, Noctis” to bring him back to the moment and away from the distractions of more than just the guests at the table. He tuned in and out of the talk, the speculations and chatter, used to being ignored by the Imperial governors and their staffs. 

He was not used to having the attention focused on him— the draw of eyes he could feel moving over him. Somewhere between the main course and dessert, the Chancellor seemed to fixate on him again. His voice slipping easily apart from the static of the chatter, his movements bringing a hush to the table, his words grinding the pleasantries to a halt. Noct felt his father stiffen before he registered the words. 

“I understand you were not born blind, Prince Noctis.” The voice dripped over the last of the cutlery ringing against empty plates, and the hesitation of the staff clearing things was almost as tangible as the meal. Beside him, Ignis straightened in his seat, and Noct knew that the protective instinct of every Lucian in the room was rising against the uncouth drawing of attention. The voice raised in tone— an innocent inflection at the stunned silence already caused. “I mean no offence, of course. But there are such darling pictures of the royal family in the Halls of History. And I am a curious man.” 

Noct could feel the way his father bristled, and the way the hush fell over the others at the table, even as the staff resumed bringing the last course out. He could feel the way the air hung stagnant over the table and the tension in both Gladio and Clarus as they weighed their options over which royal to calm first. He resisted the urge to ball his hand into a fist and instead straightened in his seat; “Was there something in particular you wanted to know, Chancellor? Or were you simply stating the obvious?”

“Is it so obvious? I suppose you might have a hard time knowing.”

“Chancellor—”

“I knew Niflheim had a strange set of manners, but I can’t say I expected such an example from you, Chancellor Izunia;” Noct offered a smirk in response, knowing that interrupting his father’s steel-laced tone could be seen as an undermining moment between them. He drew on every ounce of diplomacy picked up from Ignis in their lessons. In the air Ignis presented to others— the cool demeanour that came with a man not used to being questioned. He understood how his father appeared to others— a man older than his age, weak despite the steel in his voice and spine. And he understood how to use both examples for himself. The smirk remained, posture perfect, even as he turned his head to acknowledge the server setting a small plate in front of him. “Was there something you wanted to know?”

Ardyn, for his flair and dramatics, was not disturbed in the least by the change in air. At least as far as Noct could tell in the quiet. In the anticipation of others who were more experienced preparing to step in on his behalf. “Of course. I’m always curious about last sights.”

“Last sights?”

“What did you see last, dear prince?”

Now Noct could sense his father’s fury at the question, at the reminder of failure. At the suggestion, in front of the assembled Imperial governors, of weakness. 

“Did you want me to tell you about the daemon attack, Chancellor?” Noct tried to not let his anger at it rise. He tried to quell the memories of the fire and pain that had haunted him for years. “Or would you rather hear about how my father killed it himself in my defence? Because neither of them is really all that interesting for dinner.”

“Point taken, your highness.”

The chair across the table scrapped across the floor as the Chancellor rose. And the chatter resumed once the heavy doors closed with a soft click. Noct relaxed at the quick reassurance from his father, from the familiar presence leaning close to mutter ‘well done.’

It wasn’t until after dinner that Noct let the evening— the confrontation— catch up to him. He settled heavily in his father’s study, throwing himself over the familiar couch that had never moved an inch from its place against one wall— beneath the heavy shelves where the story books were once kept. Where there was a small box of candies kept stocked for various occasions; usually for Noct reaching up to steal a few while in a sulk or his own dramatic moments. 

“Bastard was smirking the whole time,” Gladio griped as he took the box of treats from Noct. It was late now— the guests taken up to the lounge overlooking the Skywalk for drinks before being encouraged to retire for the night— but Regis had asked them to gather in the study before they ran off to the sanctuary of Noct’s rooms. Digging through the treats, Gladio took a seat by Noct’s legs; “Even as he left. Looked like he thought he won whatever the hell that was.”

“Language, Gladiolus,” Clarus tsk’d as he stepped past them; his careful, measured steps stopping at the desk where Regis was starting to settle again. 

“I’m amazed you held your tongue, Clarus,” Regis teased, Noct smirking in response to the little huff from the Shield. “But I am sorry, Noctis. You were meant to be away from the city before he arrived.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Noct pulled himself up to sitting as Ignis tapped his shoulder; “The Chancellor is such a pleasant guy.”

He heard the soft chuckle, and the familiar shuffle of his father coming closer. He pulled himself up properly, back to his feet as he expected a change in orders and plans. There had to be a shift in focus now, because they all knew that this exact situation was what they had tried to avoid. Noct prepared to be told that he was to leave as soon as Nyx returned. That their mission was going to move forward a few days early. That excuses were going to be made for him, again, and he would have to disappear from the Citadel as quickly and quietly as the gathered Imperial ambassadors could allow. 

“I’m sorry, Noctis,” he could hear the small smile in his father’s voice; “I think you already know what needs to happen.”

“I know, I know. We’ll head out as soon as Nyx is back.”

The hand on his shoulder was warm, comforting, and he could feel his father’s power clinging to him— an extension of what he wanted. A sense of the home he was going to be leaving. “Be safe.”

He trusted his father’s judgement in this. He knew that the Chancellor was too dangerous. That there was enough of something unsettling in him to warrant backing away now. Before any real trouble could be caused by the strange man poking at old wounds. “You too.”


	23. Shadow

“We will be able to leave as soon as Ulric reports back in,” Ignis had their schedule planned out to as many details as he could. He had been sure— after the disaster of the dinner the night before— to avoid accepting any last minute meetings for Noct to appear in. There were few morning activities, while Gladio and Prompto prepared and loaded the Regalia, for Noct to do other than ensure that he was prepared for the trip ahead. “Though I would prefer to be on our way by noon at the latest.”

The hallways still buzzed with the stories of the confrontation over the formal dinner. The story passed between the staffers as the shifts changed and those who witnessed the Niflheim Chancellor challenging the patience and manners of the Lucian hosts spread the news on to the next, and the next, and the next. Until the story seeped through the Citadel like the shadows that seemed to follow behind the Niflheim guests. The presence of the Chancellor touched by his own bold nature until they could barely walk the halls from the dining room to the King’s study to the private apartments without the whispers following. 

Ignis knew that Noct could hear them better than he could. He could pick up the quiet words that died on the lips of the staff as they approached. He knew that Noct could hear them, and understand that the rumours would travel across the city if fanned by the right people. The right instigators. 

He had done all he could to keep Noct from crossing the paths of the Imperial guests before they left. 

“Any word from Nyx?”

“He’s responded, at least. Though I’m sure there’s more traffic than normal with the new arrivals and the rumour that the talks will be turned towards the territories soon.”

“Why would that cause traffic?”

“Protesters, Noct.” There had been a few already, but nothing like what was expected when the news broke over the next few formal negotiations. “Those who protest the treaty entirely, and those who want to draw attention to the plights of their homeland.”

“You mean like Galahd.”

“Yes.” Ignis had never minced words for Noct; he had never softened a blow or let the prince think that there was something that he could overlook or ignore when a matter troubled his people. He had never let Noct underestimate or forget the weight of his station, even if he tried to share it as best he could through the years. “But their concerns will be addressed. It’s been worked into our trip to address any concerns the people have with the treaty.”

“Like that’ll be enough,” Noct paused in the hallway as they walked, as his hands traced the familiar patterns to orient himself with the weeks’ worth of strangeness and chaos that had infiltrated his home.

They had to cross the areas that were open to the Imperial guests as they finalised their plans. There were offices and corresponding officials who needed access to the the preliminary reports. They had spoken with Clarus and Ignis’ uncle, had to prepare orders and check with the Guard to ensure that the way for them to move was clear. There was, at the very least, the necessity of a stop with the Guards controlling access to the Citadel and the roundabout ways they would have to venture to slip out and to the Gate. Noct hadn’t needed to be there while Ignis filed his plans and reports and requests, but he had been wary about letting any of them wander alone this close to leaving. 

Even in the sanctuary of the Citadel. 

“Noct?”

“Ah, your highness,” the voice— the lazy drawl of it, the familiarity in the tone that made Noct’s skin crawl as it seeped around him— drowned out the concerned question from Ignis at his sudden stop. “I was hoping to catch you before you disappeared on your little adventure.”

The man belonging to the voice slipped close, snaked an arm though his as Noct was pulled away from the anchoring touch to the wall. He could hear Ignis’ protest, he could feel his own rising, but the Chancellor’s steps were quick and easy. Once more, Noct felt like a doll tugged along through the mire and muck of the man’s presence, at a loss as to exactly how to pull away. And that presence was overwhelming; it slipped around him as easily as a cloak, thrummed behind his useless eyes like a pulse. 

“It would have been such a pity to have missed you, dear prince. I’m afraid I really must apologise for my behaviour at dinner. It had been a long day of hard travel, you see. And my manners must have escaped me somewhere along the way.”

Noct tried to orient himself again, among the flourish and fluster of whatever costume the Chancellor wore. Whatever it was, the man did not favour the same crisp, fitted uniforms of the other Niflheim officials. Whatever it was extended like the shadow of the man itself, until all familiarity in the hall dripped away until the world narrowed to just the point of contact the Chancellor had on him. Until even Ignis fell away and everything Noct knew and understood about his own world focused on just where the Chancellor gripped his arm.

The world fell away, and Noct couldn’t even struggle to bring it back to him. His voice caught in his throat as he struggled to protest, to pull away, to regain any semblance of his own agency. “C-chancellor.”

“Do call me Ardyn, my dear prince.”

Whatever tendril slipped through the man’s easy, friendly tones constricted Noct until he could no longer respond. Until the pleasantry was cut short and a firm hand moved to grip his chin. Until he was turned for inspection beneath something that froze him in place. The sense of decay, of rot, welled up from the touch. It spread across his skin and jaw and his mind blanked as the training that had been drilled into him for years was lost to that single point of contact. Vaguely, he wondered if he’d bruise from the grip, or if the sense of that inky darkness creeping across him would stain. 

He felt the eyes of a predator examining him. 

“Such a shame,” Ardyn said, the touch of a growl to his tone; “you would have looked so lovely as one of mine.”

“One of—?”

“Hush,” logically, Noct knew that the Guards and the Glaives were close. He knew that Ignis was just a few feet away. He knew that there were weapons at his fingertips, power itching beneath his skin and flowing through his veins. And Ardyn was here, holding him still with barely a touch; “and let me see just what damage that Oracle did to you, my pet.”

“I’m not—”

“I said,” the growl was harsher, harder, slipping through Ardyn’s voice like a threat. Like an order, that blossomed pain beneath Noct’s eyes and shattered what little understanding of it he had left. Like a spread of fire that made his knees weak and his will shatter under the threat of worse; “quiet. It seems like not all of it was taken from you. Good.”

All at once the world returned. 

Noct staggered, falling hard against the wall until he felt the comforting hold of Ignis trying to steady him. He tried to straighten, tried to focus on the concern in his friend’s voice as everything crashed back into his awareness— the cold stone walls, the warmth of the sunlight through the windows, the noise of the machines hidden behind the ancient stonework. He could hear the rush of the world returning, as Ardyn’s presence withdrew. 

“Oh dear, is his highness alright?”

He took deep, shuddering breaths as he allowed Ignis to take his hand, his arm. He let himself lean against his friend, comforted by the warm body and familiar touch— by the cologne Ignis barely wore, always aware of his sensitivity to smells, and the clean press of his shirt, humming with the protective magics woven into every fibre. “Iggy…”

“His highness is fine, Chancellor, thank you. A busy morning, is all.”

The excuse was made and Ignis wasted no time in pulling Noct away from the Chancellor. In rushing his prince through the hall in the same manner he had never dared to attempt before. There was a soft apology along the way, before Ignis brought them to a stop in a quiet corner— a quiet hallway behind the mechanical alerts of a security pass— to let Noct regain himself. 

“Noctis? Noct, are you okay?” 

Noct felt himself lowered to the hallway floor, his back pressed against the cold stone as the peace returned around him. “Iggy, what the hell was that?”

“I don’t know. He took your arm and you stumbled,” Noct felt the concern in his friend’s touch. The nervous worry as Ignis carefully examined him for any sign of what had caused the sudden shift in his prince. “I’m sorry, Noct. I should have stopped him.”

“It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“Noct—”

“Let’s just get out of here.”

“Of course. I’ll call Nyx again. Make sure we’re on schedule.” Ignis stepped away, and with both hands on the wall, Noct pulled himself to his feet. He felt for the patterns etched into the stone, his understanding of where he was returning with every familiar vine and curl and leaf he could feel beneath his searching hands. He knew this hallway. He knew that it was close to his rooms. He felt for the little chips in the stone, the imperfections as he followed the warmth of the sunlight flooding the halls. He paused at the window itself, relished the warmth as it drove the memory of the seeping cold of whatever Ardyn had done away from him again. 

Ignis was loud. Intentionally so. He had let Nyx’s voice filter through his phone on speaker, ensuring Noct could hear the Glaive’s promise that he was only a few minutes away. That he was getting snacks for the road. That everything was normal and going as planned. Ignis intentionally let his steps echo in the hallways as he followed his prince to the window, as he attempted not to scold the Glaive for the unscheduled stop, as he let Noct listen for something of comfort while he anchored himself again. 

“Hurry up, hero,” Noct said, smiling a bit as he heard Nyx’s voice far too chipper through the phone. 

“On my way, little star.” The reply came easily enough through the phone, Ignis ensuring the Glaive was done speaking before he closed the line. 

They would be out of the city by noon. They would be in Hammerhead by nightfall, and spend the night in a caravan if they could. They would have a haven at least— where the ancient magics would rise around them with the crackling heat of a fire. Regardless of where they settled for the night, he would spend most of the day curled against Nyx’s side, probably while Gladio read aloud to the car, or while the radio cycled through whatever music they could find. Regardless of their schedule, he knew he could shield himself with the promised safety of his friends, with the security of Nyx’s arm around his shoulders. Soon.

Noct started on the route back to his rooms to wait. To force himself to ignore the dread building in his gut at the promise of adventure outside of the Wall.


	24. Hammerhead

They had powered through as much as they could in their escape from the Citadel and city. Reports had been called in while on the bridge, when the top of the Regalia was locked into place against the winds whipping across the open water that helped further fortify the city. They had slipped, as planned, out the side doors and away from the prying, spying eyes of any of the Niflheim visitors. They had moved through a set of quieter side streets after taking the delivery routes out of the Citadel grounds, moving as quietly as possible to avoid the fanfare that would have otherwise been expected. 

Ignis had refused to leave Noct’s side before Nyx was there to take his place and Gladio assured them that they were ready to leave. No one had questioned the tension in the prince, or his adviser, but they were in just as much a hurry to leave. Piled into the familiar Regalia together, with Noct tucking himself beneath Nyx’s arm while the Glaive assured him that he had talked to his friends deep in the city— had sorted things out and confirmed that Crowe had received her orders for placement in the Citadel before they left. It was easy to feel safe in the tight fit of the car— pressed together like they had been in Noct’s rooms.

They were meant to surface again in Lestallum, after they had met with Pelna and Luche, if not the Captain. Meant to reappear later on to gather the opinions about the treaty that the Citadel lacked, and to reassure the Lucian people that the royals were still in control of the situation. 

But there was no set schedule in place just yet. 

They reached Hammerhead in early evening, with the rain that had started in the city pattering against the Regalia as Ignis followed the brightest lights that wouldn’t lead them back home. The little caravan barely large enough for them, Noct the only one to have any room to stretch as he claimed the bed at one end of the thing. Nyx grinned at the scowls he had earned by being able to sit out the card game that had started for the remaining two bunks, arms around Noct as he watched their friends attempt to cheat each other out of an actual bed for the evening. 

“Should I assume this is all very exciting?” Noct asked as he picked around the takeout dish during a moment of quiet. 

“Specs is still trying to cheat,” Gladio offered, selecting his cards for the next hand. “And Prompto’s winning by dumb luck.”

“Luck? This is all skill, baby.”

“How,” Ignis started, setting his cards down long enough to take a sip from the can of Ebony he had run back out to the car for during dinner; “is playing a game of chance considered a skill?”

“It’s not a game of chance, this is— Where did you get the ace from?”

“Skill.”

“Cheating.”

Nyx chuckled at the bickering, ignoring them long enough to kiss Noct’s cheek and pull them both away from the tiny, crowded table. “They’ll be at this for a while, little star.”

Noct, Nyx had discovered, had a handful of nervous little habits that he was starting to let on. Without the familiar anchor of the patterns adorning the Citadel walls, the prince tended to try to keep his hands busy by other means. He played with his hair— which Nyx found endearing— tugging on strands that felt out of place until they were righted, even if the careful placement would be ruined in a moment by the wind or rain. Noct also traced him— a strange sensation when cuddled together in the back of the Regalia, Prompto grinning and snapping pictures of the adorable image. He had caught Noct’s wrist more than once, as a hand slipped over his abs or down his arm. He had stopped Noct more than once, from tickling him with feather soft touches, and watched instead as Noct worried his lips and let the idle hand move elsewhere to the line of the seat or across him to the Lucian patterns etched into the door. 

He caught Noct’s wrists again as he led him to the rented bed in the tiny cabin, keeping his voice low and trusting Noct to be paying attention to him rather than to the bickering out in the narrow galley. Trusting the range of Noct’s focus to narrow away from the rain against the caravan and the comforting familiarity of the voices of his friends arguing about the latest miraculous card to slip into Ignis’ hands.

“Okay,” voice soft, he watched as Noct’s world narrowed down to him. Even without the focus of his eyes, the difference in focus was instant; the whole of Noct’s body shifted. He turned towards Nyx, he paused, still, quiet; “are you going to tell me what’s up?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t give me that,” releasing one of Noct’s wrists, Nyx was not surprised in the least to find Noct’s hand fisted in his shirt the next moment, grip tight even as they manoeuvred to a more comfortable position on the bed. “You’ve been a wreck since I got back. What happened?”

The tension Noct had carried with him all afternoon returned— in his shoulders and back, beneath Nyx’s hands as he held his lover. Nyx knew what the automatic response was before Noct had even opened his mouth; “It’s—”

“Don’t say that it’s nothing, little star. What happened?”

“Ardyn, the Chancellor.”

“What—” 

The punch to his chest— meant to quiet him rather than hurt him made Nyx smile, and he eased his protective hold on Noct. And attempted not to laugh at the scowl he had earned. “Don’t interrupt. He stopped me in the halls before you got back. He did… I don’t know, it was weird. It was like magic, but different than mine, or dad’s. I think. It was— It was different, but not.”

“You’re saying the Niflheim Chancellor has magic?”

“Yes. And he said some things.”

“Like?”

“I told you not to interrupt.” Nyx couldn’t bite back the chuckle at that, and kissed Noct’s palm in apology. He forced his own wild thoughts out of his head— forced himself to relax rather than speculate. Someone would have said if Noct had been hurt, if there was a real threat left at the Citadel, or following them out past the Wall. “He felt wrong. Like how the daemons felt, the last time we were out. And he said that I was one of ‘his’, or should have been. Or something.”

“His?”

“I don’t know. It was weird.”

“And Iggy just let this happen?”

“I don’t think Iggy knew it did. I said it was weird.”

“Yeah…”

“So…” Nyx knew that if he acted the way he wanted to— if he disappeared into the rain and the night and doubled back towards the city— that things would not end well. He knew that raging at this would get him nowhere. That he needed to be smart about this sort of thing; the threat came from something much bigger than him, probably much smarter than him, if he was being honest. And that if Noct had picked up on the strangeness, or threat, or whatever the hell the Chancellor was playing at, then the King was already a handful of steps ahead; “if I see him, I should kill him.”

Or there was that option. And that was worth the little smile from Noct. 

“Don’t be an idiot, hero.”

“It’s in my job description.” He shifted on the small bed, smiling at the sound of Prompto’s victory over claiming one of the tiny bunks at the other side of the caravan. He shifted enough to settle Noct against him, and closed his eyes to listen to the rhythmic pounding of the rain. “Hero and dumbass. Ask Crowe.”

“I should, actually. She’s going to be in the Citadel while we’re gone?”

“Yeah, I put in for Libertus to be there too.”

“So you can tell them to look out for it, too. Dad’s going to be busy. But they’re going to be watching his back.”

“I’ll warn them in the morning, little star. Before we hit the road again.”

“Okay.”

The texts in the morning were simple and short, and he checked in with Cor with the same warning, as Ignis handled a basic breakfast over the ancient stove. He had let Noct sleep in, smirked as Prompto struggled out of his hard-won bunk to stretch and join Gladio on a morning run. The road was still damp, pavement shining in the morning sun as it rose over the not-so-distant city and the stretch of wasteland between them and their home, even as the heat started to climb the longer they waited. The caravan door was propped open, and the radio outside had been tuned to a familiar news station from the city left to filter in with the morning noise of the outpost waking up. 

It was a comfortable silence with Ignis, the man listening to the news of treaties and talks and the official appearances being reported as he plated bacon and scrambled eggs in open competition with the draw of the nearby restaurant. There was talk of what they were missing in the Citadel, just as much on the outside now as any of the other civilians in the city and beyond. Just as lost and helpless to influence the proceedings as Nyx knew Libertus had felt— more now than ever as talk turned to the territories annexed by the Empire in their slow consumption of the world. 

The only reassurance that they were on the right path in the whole mess of this tentative peace was the way Noct unceremoniously slumped into his lap with a yawn and the excuse that he had no idea where the chairs even were. Nyx set his phone aside with the interruption, careful of his coffee even as Noct sniffed it out to steal for himself, and smiled against Noct’s shoulder. “’Morning, kitten.”

“I’m not a kitten.”

“You are somewhat feline,” Ignis offered, tapping the plate he set down to let Noct know where it was, and clearly placing a fork to chime against it. “Scrambled eggs, Noct.”

“Thanks, Iggy.” 

Nyx reached around Noct for the bacon, before he settled back enough to be used as part of the furniture, hands settled easily on Noct’s hips. He smiled as he watched Ignis take the rest of the food out to the others, leaving enough for leftovers or seconds if needed. Enough for him when Noct was done pinning him in place. 

“Crowe’s going to keep an eye on the Chancellor,” Nyx offered by way of report. “And the Marshal is going to keep us up to date on all the fun stuff that’s happening.”

“By fun you mean talks and conferences, and everything we’ll hear about on the radio, anyway?”

“Pretty much.” 

There were no set plans in place for their schedule. Nothing in stone other than an appearance to be made in Lestallum. Or around a few outposts and towns here and there. There was Galdin Quay as a final stop, and Nyx knew the orders regarding the port town and its accompanying resort. If the worst happens, and all the worry over Niflheim betray comes to pass, they would protect Noct there. They would call in favours and debts and drag him across the sea to safety— to Accordo was the official plan. Nyx wasn’t certain that he wouldn’t override that if need be, if they were backed into that sort of corner. 

He knew, if given half a chance and with or without the dire circumstances of things going wrong, he would take Noct to Galahd for safety. Back to his home territory, where he knew every decimated rock and cave in the great canyon. Where he knew how to hide and where his father’s old network and resistance was still helping get the troublemakers away from the Nifs.

But first, they would have to keep to the plan. And hope that it never came to the alternatives. 

“You’re thinking.”

“Only about you.”

“Don’t be sweet. It’s too early to deal with you being sweet.” 

“It’s almost midmorning.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Of the two of us, little star, who can see the clock?”

“Shut up.” Noct wriggled until he was seated next to Nyx, the plate between them. He listened to Gladio and Prompto’s return and the words floating through the caravan from the radio. Nyx knew that he was still half asleep, slumped against him and picking at the food while he listened to his friends. “What are they doing?”

Nyx stretched enough to glance out the window, to where he could just make out Gladio standing. “Can’t see. Want to join them?”

“Yeah.”

The heat of Leide was already starting to pick up with the sun, a dust storm kicking up across the wastes and through the tall rocks until even Longwythe was obscured by the cloud. But Noct settled easily in the rickety plastic chairs once free from Nyx’s help down the steps of the caravan. He had followed the sound of Prompto’s cheer, accepted the fresh coffee Ignis pressed into his hands, and swatted at Gladio as the man ruffled his hair in greeting. The outpost was busy, with more cars and trucks pulling through the meagre station before turning towards Insomnia or south to Galdin Quay. People had gathered around the store, the restaurant, and the open maw of the dark garage as the radios all synced to the same news— the Oracle was on tour. 

Noct straightened in his seat, the plastic scratching against the pavement as he nearly tipped. Ignis’ suggestion that they actually greet the garage owner while there— an old friend of Regis’— died on his lips as he steadied Noct and listened. They all paused as the news proclaimed the Oracle’s latest mission of healing, tied to the mission of peace. Touring the kingdom— with the allowances of the Empire— with her brother as escort. 

“Seems we may run into the Oracle on our trip.”

“May? Iggy, we need to!” Noct grinned at the prospect, the news that the Lady Lunafreya had just appeared in Altissia, with clear plans to visit Lucis now that the borders were formally opened between the Imperial provinces and the kingdom. Now that there was no reason— with even the Chancellor away from Niflheim with the other ranking officials— to keep the Oracle from touring while the peace lasted. “Can we find out where she’ll be?”

“I’ll find out,” Ignis nodded to the others; “But we still need to make our way to Lestallum first. That might even draw her there, knowing where you are. I’m certain her memory of you hasn’t been dulled; his majesty did say she asked about you often in her letters to him.”

“Yeah,” Prompto pushed his bacon towards Noct, his own grin at this twist in their adventure bleeding into his voice. “She’ll probably show up to say hi, right?”

They couldn’t change the plans now; couldn’t turn south to the port where the Oracle would first make her landing in Lucis. They couldn’t test the borders any more than they already planned to. The mission was first, and foremost, to collect the Armiger for Noct.


	25. Blockade

There had been talk about avoiding the blockades as much as possible— of taking the south roads along the coast and curling around the Disc of Cauthess to Lestallum the long way. They had talked, however briefly, that it might be easier to skip the Duscae province entirely at the start and loop back in the opposite direction of the original plan. It would take them along a more isolated route— the scenic route, as Ignis was calling it— and through more small towns where they were neither expected, nor searched for. They compared the maps they had brought to the surveillance Pelna had taken of the blockades and the long lines of MTs at each checkpoint in Lucian territory; the remnant of the losing war still marring the kingdom despite the peace talks. 

“Isn’t the point of this for me to be seen?”

Noct had only heard the warnings from Cor before they left, had only felt the small tug of anxiety that came with reassurances that they couldn’t be stopped for long, if at all. He had the practical knowledge he had been briefed on; there were two garrisons to every blockade, one to man the checkpoint under the orders of an officer processing papers, and one serving as back up in the event of trouble. He had been told of their weapons and supply lines, and the breakdown of how they would be eased through without question at best. There was talk of the shift changes and how the mechanical soldiers would be alert regardless of the plans they made to arrive earlier or later than the usual traffic that might be passing through.

Noct couldn’t see the pictures that had come with the reports. 

That many MTs meant trouble in Nyx’s experience. 

“In Lestallum, little star. Not getting carted back to the city by some friendly Nifs thinking you’re running.”

“And if we’re spotted heading to Galdin Quay, that won’t suggest I’m running?” Noct had crossed his arms as he leaned against the caravan— the solid form to his back, listening to the debate about their route. Listening to the worry and the concerns that kept a constant undertone to the whole trip. “Not that I’m not saying some time at the beach wouldn’t be fun.”

Gladio nudged Noct with a grin; “You don’t have a beach body, highness.”

“And you do?” Noct nudged his Shield back. “What does that even mean?”

Gladio grinned at the scowl and started to gather up the pictures and reports they had brought with them, his own notes on the threats at the blockades and barriers posted throughout the kingdom tucked away into the folder. The Nif presence was still a very real element to the kingdom, and none of them had any illusion that would change after whatever treaty was decided was signed. “That you’re scrawny, even if you’re right about this. We should stick to the plan. It’s public knowledge by now that Noct is heading out to talk to people.”

“Yes,” Ignis didn’t agree with the idea, that much was evident in the way he traced the lines on the map before giving up on finding an alternate route around the blockade. It was evident in his stiffness and double checking of whatever paperwork and identification they needed if stopped tucked away with the map; reports and orders with Gladio’s books. “You’re right. But we’ll keep our heads down and tempers in check, yes?”

“Got it, Specs,” Gladio offered a smirk, and shoved Noct towards Nyx. “Don’t give them a reason.”

Prompto bounced up from the hard plastic chair he had claimed, silent while the plans were made and well above his head. “We good? We’re going?”

“We’re good.”

“Great. I call shotgun!”

“What the hell?”

Nyx grinned as Prompto made a dash for the Regalia to claim the front seat while he argued the point with Gladio on his heels. He kept a hand on the small of Noct’s back to direct him towards the car, enjoying the smile the childishness of the other brought out. They would reach the barrier to Duscae by late afternoon already, evening if they stayed any longer. “You ready?”

“Just tell me when I need to sit up and look princely.”

Leide was exactly as they had left it: the protective wastelands that guarded the oasis of Insomnia. The fortress near the hunters’ outpost still lay dormant among the rusted out shells of the war, it’s long shadow pointedly ignored by them all. Though Nyx still watched the service road that led to its gate until they were passed, and waited for the crawl of the carriers and the red pulse of the towers that could signal life returning to the Imperial outpost, even as they passed the shelled, ruined buildings of what must have been a Lucian town. And the empty hub of remains from what Nyx remembered were once booming mines. There were no generated shields spreading out over the Lucian landscapes, or sensors, or slow rumble of the heavier armoured vehicles Nyx had seen bringing mechanical soldiers and their commanders to siege lines. He watched the beasts run and scrounge, and a distant behemoth snuffle in the roots and shade of a tree that really should not have grown as tall and strong as it had out here in the dusts, before they made the turn to the Imperial gates that marked out the blockade they had ignored on their first round. The soft greens that had started to line the roads only a promise of what was to come from beyond the checkpoint.

It covered the road like a miniaturised version of the fortress, the walls stained by the beating sands and dust the winds kicked up around it, but ultimately a deep, unnatural grey spreading across the road itself. There were scorch marks cut into the bland, high walls— left by defenders cutting down the beasts that picked off MTs when they wandered too far— and chips left by the claws of daemons scratching at the barrier during the cold nights. The cliffs of Leide should have been enough to ward off intruders, the base built into them just as unsightly as everything else about the persistent Imperial presence. Where the chain fences stopped, the concrete blockades started, and the buildings that had yet to fall to ruin from decades of disuse were all re-purposed into the smooth, uniform style of the Empire. 

Nyx knew the style of the claws, the marks left by supernatural swords. He knew that the imps would swarm walls like this if there wasn’t enough light to drive them away, and the Nifs never had enough light. He had seen them try to tame the daemons before.

Ignis slowed as he took in the sight of the opened heavy gates. Nyx leaned forward in his seat to see around the driver, even as Gladio straightened and Prompto’s constant shutter stilled in the afternoon light. 

“What is it?” 

“There’s no one here,” Prompto was the one to answer Noct. 

Nyx shifted in the seat enough to reach down to where he had stashed his blades under the driver’s seat, enough to press Noct back in his seat, and move him closer to Gladio’s protective watch. He ignored the curious look from Prompto, and the tension from Noct, eyes focused on the shadows of the buildings and doorways as they hurried past. Most of the armour scattered across the empty grounds was torn to shreds, the weapons ignored and the Niflheim banners scored black in places that made them appear to have been dipped in ink. 

“Keep driving, Ignis. We’re not stopping.”

There should have been garrisons here, officers, and paper pushers. There should have been a bored looking Nif guard at the gate to signal their approach. To check the papers they had carefully selected and test their stories so bluntly drilled into them. There should have been checks and questions, as the Nif monstrosity rose from the cliffs and crumbling Lucian buildings overgrown with the creeping wet green of the province beyond. 

“What would—” Prompto’s question died at the sight as Ignis pressed forward. There were still bodies in the shadows— tucked away where the sun couldn’t reach, MT armour and weapons scattered across the empty ground. The ground and walls scored by claws and bullets alike. The shadows of the fences and twisted metal of the longstanding base stretched out across the road like a testament to the disaster that had taken the Nifs down in their own stronghold. The shadows growing longer as the sun started to dip lower. “What do we do?”

“We keep going,” Ignis set his jaw and focused on the promise of the green Duscaen wetlands ahead, beyond where the road widened enough for the dormant Nif vehicles to park in a show of force. Belatedly, Nyx realised that the checkpoint had made use of the old Lucian outpost that would have served the same purpose more than thirty years ago, that the skeletal buildings were the heart of whatever town was destroyed in the war and overcome by the parasites rebuilding their barriers. “There’s an outpost ahead, we can call in the report from there.”

“What are we reporting?” Noct was sitting forward, hands on Gladio’s arm to push the protection away as he was held in place in the centre of the backseat. “Anyone planning on telling me?”

The air beyond the checkpoint was heavy with the promise of rain— the humidity of the wetlands joining the heat that had created the wastes they had just left, getting heavier and more oppressive as they left the steep cliffs of the barrier. The trees that had only dotted the cliffs before now rose tall over natural barriers that had seemed impenetrable from the Leiden side, their wide branches spreading out over the shorter, scattered brush that had been cut through by dirt roads and chocobo paths. The stone formations arched across the landscape and the low sun caused the distant Disc of Cauthess to glitter and shine just as much as the waters below. The green of the province was almost breathtaking, if not for the worry over what had taken out a fully armed garrison of Niflheim MTs and their officers.

Ignis pulled them over into the rest area that faced the rolling hills to the right and the deep dip towards Alstor Slough and the stretch of grasslands. Once the car was stopped, but Gladio and Ignis had their phones in hand and the order stood that Nyx was to look after Noct. If Prompto hadn’t got there first. 

“The Nifs we expected were gone,” Prompto explained as he helped Noct from the car, hand on his friend’s arm as he led Noct away from where their friends were calling in the strange, empty blockade. “It looked like an attack, though. Like, just scattered armour and all the weapons were still there. Just lying there.”

“An attack?”

“It’s nothing,” Nyx cut in, a quick look over to where Ignis and Gladio were calling in their report— regardless of if it led to anything. “It was a daemon attack, and it looked like the daemons won it.”

“But from the way you guys were talking about the blockade—”

“Yeah, but I’ve taken out garrisons myself, little star. Some daemons just got lucky.” Nyx could see that Prompto wanted to argue the point, that there was more to be said, to be warned and asked. No MT unit seasoned enough to be guarding territory in an enemy land would fall victim to just some encounter with the prowling daemons. And there was nothing to be done about it now, except to keep an eye out for dangers in the night. “There’s no point in worrying about it now.”

“Except you look worried,” Prompto shrugged at the glare Nyx shot him. “Hey, just being the eyes for my buddy.”

Ignis returned to them before Nyx could respond, and Gladio shortly after. They would stay at the rest area for the night, and move quickly again come dawn. The Lucians wouldn’t investigate now— there was no manpower for it, and no desire to look into an attack that could not occur again. Not when there were bigger issues at hand in the city. 

Nyx wanted to sit watch, for as long as he could out here, where the floodlights pointed into the darkness of the grasslands and spread across the road might not be enough. He wanted to trust that the bickering between Gladio and Ignis was still just their normal, default interaction, that they weren’t worried by the empty blockade and whatever reaction their reports in had got. He wanted to just settle on one of the hard plastic chairs that seemed to accompany every little rest area like this and pretend that he wasn’t unnerved by the quiet of the province as the sun set. He wanted to just settle and enjoy the wet green of Duscae and the freshness of the air. 

“There’s a whole herd of them,” Prompto sat with Noct at one of the small tables, fries from the diner shared between them as Prompto looked over what he could see in the evening light. “I guess there must have been farms here at some point. I mean, there’s buildings out there, but they look pretty abandoned from here. No lights, and I’m pretty sure they’re overgrown.”

“Good eye, Prompto,” Nyx let his step fall a little harder than necessary, announcing his approach before he even spoke. “What are you two doing out here?”

“Prompto’s helping me see the kingdom properly.” The price paused, thumb tracing the edge of the label of the strange blue sodas common to the chain diners; “Since none of you guys are telling me anything.”

“You might know,” the blond beamed at him, and indicated the garlua herd settled down opposite the road— where there was still some protection for them in the light and short brush; “are there farms here? Like, are those domesticated?”

“There used to be,” Nyx could still see the old buildings Prompto had pointed out, with a fry in hand as an extension. A little cottage and water tower settled easily into the picturesque slopes of the Slough— barely an outline now in the dusk and glare of the flood lights, but a sign of at least some sort that there was civilisation still spread across the kingdom. “Don’t know if they’re still up and running. There’s a few in Cleigne that we might be able to check out later.”

Noct smiled as Nyx pulled out a seat. As the Glaive stayed close without interrupting the shared meal (if it was that, Nyx was more just grateful that Ignis had yet to see what Noct had decided was dinner). “And what was this about a chocobo ranch?”

“Oh, we’re going to that,” Prompto said. As if he wouldn’t need to run it past anyone else. As if there would be any argument against a stop to see the birds outside of the royal stables and tiny ranches within the Crown City. “There’s a huge sign for it just across the road, Noct. It’s like a sign to heaven, all gold and sparkly.” 

The stretch of the road— the glitter of the signs, the distant lights shining through the trees and off the waters below— seemed more like a promise now than when they had first left the city for the brief tastes of the Leiden dusts. The shine of stars, as dim as they were over the brightened outposts, were still as beautiful as their first night by the little prairie outpost full of hunters and friends of the city Crownsguard. Nyx smiled at the thought of chasing where that glittering golden sign would lead them; of chasing the adventure that led them away from the shadows that had started to loom over the Citadel and that was creeping through the blockade and night. 

“If you can convince Iggy,” Nyx knew that the tension wouldn’t be eased by a quick distraction, or the sense of duty delayed by a long trip away from their appointed tasks. He didn’t know if there would be time for those things later, or if he would watch Noct pick up more Royal Arms and disappear into whatever legacy his bloodline demanded. “We could do some exploring. They’re going to want to go to Lestallum though.”

It was a straight path to the small city. Straight and narrow from the little outpost and around the Slough. In the morning, they would see the vibrancy of the province, and the stretch of open road in the light of day. It would be warmer, safer, and they would have the whole of Eos stretched out before them. 

“You know,” Nyx reached for the bottle Noct had been drinking from, letting the touch linger and offering a barely apologetic grin for Noct’s blush to Prompto’s amusement; “it’s been ages since I’ve seen a chocobo ranch. I’ll put in a good word.”

Things would look better in the morning. Brighter in the morning.


	26. Chocobo Haven

The ranch was tucked away in the depths of a forest on the other side of Alstor Slough. Where the shade of the stretching trees nearly reached the glittering waters of the wetlands, and the rough paths crossing the countryside disappeared into the shadows and underbrush. There patch of green had been lit up the night before and in the early morning, the shining signs and directions showing them where to go as they debated the merit of the delay over breakfast. Now, Prompto rattled off facts about the birds and the ranch as Noct leaned against him in backseat of the Regalia once they were back on the road, the chill of the wet morning air held at bay by the car’s top fit snugly into place around them. Prompto’s voice filled the Regalia, even as Gladio spoke up from the front seat to make a comment or ask a question not found in the tiny brochure picked up at the Coernix station they had just left. 

“If the birds prefer forests, why do we keep them in grasslands in Insomnia?”

“Because Insomnia sucks,” Prompto answered absently, patting Noct’s head in apology when his friend swatted his leg. “The stables there get shared with all the farms, right? Like the garula farms and all that? I guess it’s hard to have a forest in the city. Even Insomnia.”

“Probably,” Gladio had tucked his book away once they neared the wooded area, once the movement of the car drew the attention of the slow moving catoblepas trudging through the wetlands. The signs now had arrows for the ranch, and another for the racetracks, set between the trees arching overhead and still shining in the dim shadows of the forest. “We’re not staying too long though, so don’t get attached.”

“Oh, c’mon! We need to at least ride one, right?”

“No, we most certainly do not,” Ignis said as he manoeuvred the Regalia into a parking spot just off the road. “That we’re allowing this delay at all is enough.”

“Besides,” Noct followed Prompto’s lead as his friend practically jumped from the car. A hand fisted in the back of Prompto’s shirt as a guide; “I never learnt how.”

“What? You never learnt? Noct! I’m so sorry!”

“Would you put the blind kid on the back of a bird and let them both loose? I can already hear Iggy panicking.”

Nyx grinned at the carefully maintained silence from Ignis over the comment. The only acknowledgement for the statement the man was willing to offer was a roll of his eyes and an adjustment of his glasses. Nyx took Noct’s hand in his own before Prompto could drag them both off. “They’re very intelligent birds, you know.”

“Would you trust me on them, hero?”

“No, you’ll have an army of them before the end of the day and wreak havoc.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Let’s go find something fluffy for you to cuddle, little star.”

“Guys!” Prompto crouched at a little flock of chicks running about, his shout to his friends causing the birds to scatter before regrouping around him again, fascinated by his camera strap as they tried to peck at it. “Get over here for a picture!”

The ranch itself was small. Closed off as it was by the woods around it, Nyx could see where the plateau they were on dropped off beyond the carefully marked fences. There were paths spreading out like a web from the central stable, where the restaurant and store were attached for the tourists like them. Prompto was talking to Noct a mile a minute, explaining everything about the little rest area— the old wood of the stabled, the yellow chicks swarming the area, the larger birds patiently settled at their nests and waiting. 

Nyx was vaguely familiar with the birds. He had seen them wild before in Galahd. He had watched the parades of them in the city, and remembered the petting pens of them at some of the seasonal festivals— the easy little rides usually in place for children that would take them in a circuit of the park or fairgrounds at the time. He knew that they were large, and usually gentle, and that they only snapped when excited or threatened. But his own experience was limited to those few, safe meetings here and there, orchestrated by festivals and shows, when the birds were working. 

Not like this, where they wandered almost freely from their little pens and nests and eyed up the visitors milling about for pictures. He had almost forgotten how big a chocobo could be. 

“They can sense fear,” Gladio came up beside him as Prompto dragged Noct off to the pens. 

“Can they now?”

“They’re supposed to,” the younger man offered a grin, and nodded towards the prince and his friend. “They’re fine. Noct’s hardly scared of anything.”

“Yeah, yeah. Aren’t you supposed to be guarding him?”

“Aren’t you?”

Nyx smiled as he watched the two approach the birds, as Noct reached out as Prompto directed to stroke the soft feathers. As Noct suddenly had an armful of affectionate chocobo and laughed as he managed a hug around the gentle creature, while Prompto practically cheered in triumph at the pictures. They both knew that the birds were no threat to Noct. But they didn’t know the people here. They didn’t know who was among the hunters, with their vendor parked at the edge of the lot, doling out directions and bounties from a little patch of gravel. They know if there were Nif visitors in the families gawking and cooing at the birds, or struggling with the too-large sandwiches served at the restaurant. Cars still passed at an easy, slow rate, and families wandered through the trees to the race tracks a short distance away, the cheers and laughter echoing up through the trees just as much as the trills from the birds themselves.

The radio still buzzed with news from the city— the deals being made, the promises being forged— and beyond. The talk of the Oracle’s visit under heavy guard and Imperial controls interrupted the news feed every few moments, bleeding though with promises of visits to smaller towns and outposts on humanitarian missions, in shows of good faith between the two nations. Nyx watched as conversation between the visitors dulled for those announcements. 

“It’s nothing against the King,” Gladio said as the conversations around them renewed with excitement for seeing the Oracle, for the rare visits beyond the Niflheim regions of rule. “No one thinks the treaty will do anything out here.”

“I know,” Nyx did know, better than most. Certainly better than Gladio. He understood that there were doubts within the city as well. “They just want some kind of hope that there won’t be open war again.”

“Dad won’t let that happen,” Noct said as he approached, his steps slow as he followed their voices, Prompto a distracted few steps behind. “This whole thing is for peace.”

“Not everyone shares your faith in the King, little star. Not everyone knows him.” 

“That can be fixed,” Noct shifted as Nyx reached for him, as he was drawn in closer. 

Nyx followed back towards the birds, to the edge of the plateau where Ignis watched light caught in the Disc of Cauthess and it’s crystalline structure. Where they could see the riders taking chocobos out on the well-worn and well-marked paths. The roll of hills eased off to the wetlands below, where the beasts could be seen wandering through the grasses and marshes, the rise of ruined houses and a distant structure easily ignored in favour of the abundant greens. Most of the birds had settled under the attention, eased towards Noct as Prompto tried to get his perfect picture. Nyx watched, as Ignis smiled at the antics, as Noct stroked a hand along the long neck of the bird Prompto had brought to him and Gladio was holding. 

He had to admit that the place was quiet. Sheltered as it was by trees and steep climbs, they were afforded a view of the Slough— of the stretch of water with the beasts trudging through— in the early sunlight, glittering and open grasslands that lay mostly abandoned to the wild herds. 

It was another hour before Ignis started to herd them back to the car. An hour of Noct sitting on the grass by the nests with Prompto and a gang of chicks, laughing about some joke from his friend or Shield as the chicks pecked at the chains and laces on their clothing. An hour of Nyx sat nearby as he watched, smiling over Noct’s gentle hands exploring the chicks as they shuffled around him. Even Ignis made promises to find time to work a longer visit into their schedule once they had made their appropriate appearances elsewhere. 

Lestallum was waiting for them. 

Noct paused on the way to the car, a few steps from the crunch of the gravel beneath his boots. Nyx paused with him, knowing the familiar look of trying to focus on a sound out of the many around them. He knew that subtle tilt of Noct’s head toward something he wasn’t expected. Both Ignis and Gladio knew it too. 

“Hey, we good, highness?” Gladio had a hand on Prompto’s arm to still him. To limit the noise for Noct to focus. 

“Anyone else hear a dog?” 

Ignis approached, even as Nyx spotted the little grey dog with a curled tail trotting over to them from the untamed wooded grove just beyond the edge of the gravel and woodchip lot used for parking. “It’s Umbra, Noct.”

“Who’s Umbra?” Nyx knew that he would have remembered a dog like that. A dog as friendly as that. 

Noct crouched down, a hand outstretched to Umbra, tangling in the thick grey fur as the dog trotted into the prince’s embrace. Hands searched out the satchel fastened to the dog, fishing out a thin book and offering it to whomever was closest. 

“A messenger of the gods,” Ignis explained as he took the notebook from Noct, smiling as the prince returned to the affectionate greeting, now joined by Prompto. “And a link between the Oracle and his Majesty.”

“Which means that Luna must be in Lucis now?” Noct paused, even as Umbra nearly bowled him over. 

Ignis examined the book, retrieving the neatly folded letter from it. Nyx could make out the sure, fine script from Regis on the paper, and Noct’s name clearly written. “Yes, and expected to be at the treaty signing. We may have less time than we thought out here on our own.”

“His Majesty uses a messenger of the gods to send that sort of order?”

“Dad will want me to be at the signing then, too.” Noct stood, a hand still gripped in Umbra’s fur; “So I’ll need to collect what Royal Arms I can.”

“He may still want you a safe distance from the city, Noct,” but Ignis had already started to pen his response on the back of the letter. He knelt down to slip it back into the messenger’s satchel, and Noct sent the dog off with a playful ruffle of its ears. “For now, we can keep to the plan, though we may need to separate to get some of it done on schedule.”

With a hand on Noct’s back, Nyx started to direct him to the car. He tried not to think about how the dog had just vanished into the brush covering the wooded area, or the way that no one else had questioned the sudden appearance or disappearance of the dog. “Separate?” 

“I,” Ignis started; “can stay with Noct on the diplomatic portions. But perhaps it would be better to have someone collecting the Arms that we can confirm?”

“I’m staying with Noct,” Gladio shooed Prompto to the back seat, and Nyx could see the puzzle being worked out— the need to create a new plan. They had orders that needed to be redefined, and a new complication that may just come in the shape of the Oracle landing on the shores of Lucis.

“I wouldn’t ask you to leave, Gladio.”

Noct grinned as he slipped into his spot in the back seat, Nyx pulled into place with him. “We can figure that out when we know where the Arms even are.”

“Indeed,” Ignis made one last check to ensure that they were all seated before he pulled the Regalia back to the road; “but I daresay that we may need to rely less on the plans in place and see about making a few of our own.”


	27. Lestallum

The heat was practically oppressive when they reached Lestallum in the late hours of the afternoon. The road twisted up the hillside with a view of the gorge that cut through the kingdom— the ember glow of shards and magic pulsing as the light started to wane as the day progressed. Nyx had seen canyons like it before— back home, in Cavaugh— but none that had kept the magic that forged them alive like the ones of Lucis. In the distance, the crystalline rise of the Disc glittered in the last of the sunlight, and it’s shadow spread across the forests they had spent the morning in, while the beasts in the grasslands were little more than moving shadows as they made their approach to the city. 

The air hung heavy around them, and Nyx stroked Noct’s hair back away from his nape as he whined with Prompto. “Almost there, kitten.”

“There had better be air conditioning in this hotel.”

“I assure you, the Leville will have every comfort.” Ignis settled the Regalia at the lookout, between the sorts of vehicles that looked like they had been parked there for years. “As well as a thriving market just a short walk away.”

Nyx had expected Noct to take to Lestallum the same way he had handled the depths of Insomnia. To withdraw the same way in the unfamiliar noise and people, the press of the heat and strange buildings, the heat beating off concrete rather than the winds of Insomnia funnelling down through the glass and concrete ravines. He had expected Noct to stay close to him on instinct— could feel the apprehension tingeing the shared magic between them. 

Only Noct had Prompto pulling him forward here, counting out steps and snapping off pictures one handed while he tugged the prince forward and away from the lookout. He had Prompto’s hand on his arm, and his observations between them— comments on the familiarity and the alien nature of Lestallum. 

Ignis patted Nyx’s shoulder with a grin; “Prompto has a way of making Noct forget that he should be wary of unfamiliar places.”

“So I see.”

They followed a step behind, Gladio trotting ahead to keep pace with Prompto. And to add his own observation to the running narrative Prompto was weaving around them. To add a comment about the Cup Noodle truck, to coax a smiled promise from Noct that they were stopping by the place before they left the sweltering town with its constant buzz of activity. 

“You must admit,” Ignis said, eyes alert even as they seemed to be largely ignored as they walked through the main thoroughfare— the steps and storefronts raised in tiers through the town, until the press of buildings started to twist them into a maze of narrow alleys. There were flashes of bright, natural colours, wholly unlike the neon reflections of the Crown City, and Ignis almost paused in his step with the urge to follow the glimpse of market stalls and street foods; “it’s nice to see Noct so relaxed in a new place.”

“You trying to make me feel better, Specs?”

“Nominally,” the easy smirk he received in response was ruined by the snap to attention in the younger man as he rushed ahead around the fountain in the courtyard of the Leville. The greeting was more for the prince’s benefit than for ceremony or a sense of duty and training. “Captain Drautos.” 

The Captain stood on the landing, beneath the arch of the shade that had been formed from a promised balcony that never came to pass. He smiled his own greeting, as tight lipped as always, in more casual clothing than Nyx had ever seen him— denims and a t-shirt, a jacket made for long rides on open roads. And as expected, he greeted Noct first; “Your highness. Welcome to Lestallum.”

Noct’s demeanour changed as he turned to the new voice that had broken into their little group, and Nyx just smiled at the questioning look his own presence received. “Drautos, I guess you’re all business as usual?”

“For the most part, highness.” The Captain ignored the others, his focus honed in on the prince, taking in and assessing his appearance, his well-being, now that they were outside of the city. “Your rooms are already booked and prepared, the new reports have been left on the desks for you.”

“Unguarded?” Ignis took the keys offered to him, stepping in between Captain and prince. 

“Safe enough here. Most of them are rumours and fairy tales my men gathered from around the kingdom.”

“Speaking of,” Nyx moved to Noct’s side, flanking the prince with Gladio as his opposite; “how are Pelna and Luche doing out here?”

“As good as can be expected, Ulric. I’ll buy you a drink and we’ll catch up later.”

“You’re not staying to brief us?” Ignis glanced between his companions to the Captain, the keys still in hand. 

Drautos offered a quick smile, a brittle one Nyx knew from days training with the man— there were other stresses out here. Not just threats to the Crown or the Kingdom, but rumours and and insidious spreading Scourge that the visit from the Oracle was meant to quell. “I have some things to attend to. There are rumours of Niflheim patrols I want to see to.”

Noct stiffened at the idea, Prompto’s hand on his arm tightening before he could slip away enough to demand anything when there were civilians around. “Patrols?”

“Nothing to worry about, your highness. Enjoy your stay at the Leville.”

Ignis was the one to usher them inside, to check on the rooms and decide who would stay where. He and Gladio dragged Prompto the the smaller double room across from the one deemed suitable for Noct. Trusted Nyx with Noct, despite the strangeness of the new place. They sat in that larger room as Ignis examined the reports— a stack of paper in Luche’s concise language, supplemented by Pelna’s photographs and maps and details— gathered on the large bed as Prompto took Noct around the room to examine the details and tidbits. As Noct acclimatized, listening with half his attention as Ignis reviewed the latest updates on the rumoured Royal Arms. 

Nyx smiled as he caught Noct’s hand as the prince explored. He let his hand trail along Noct’s arm as he passed, grinned as Prompto snapped a picture of the distraction. “What do you think, little star?”

Noct paused in his exploration, let himself be pulled against Nyx, into his lap in the armchair separate from the bed where Ignis and Gladio had settled with the reports between them. The maps spread out to compare to their own. “What do I think about what?”

“The adventure.” 

“Wish we stayed with the chocobos.” Noct grinned. “Do we need to make all the plans now?”

“It would be better to have some idea, Noct…” Ignis started, but he moved to gather the reports together.

Gladio folded the maps together, already knowing that he would rather be out exploring the town; “I agree with Noct, how often are we going to get the chance to be out like this?”

“And there’s a market you wanted to see, right, Iggy?” Prompto kept his voice light, playful, but Nyx could see the calculation behind it. He knew a tag team when he saw one. “Noct, you want to check it out too, right?”

“I did smell some good food on the way in. And I’m starving.”

“I doubt that,” But Ignis was getting to his feet, hand out for the maps to keep their work together. “But it won’t hurt to get the lay of the land. And we will need to schedule at least some form of public address soon. There was meant to be a floating booking at a conference room here…”

“Stop working, Iggy,” Noct moved from Nyx’s lap, pulled the Glaive up with him. “Let’s go have some fun.”

There was more than just the street vendors and the restaurants that flowed out into the open streets. The local market itself was a chaotic mess of colour and smells and the heat of spices sizzling through the air. The clatter of glass and pottery, a rustle of fabric and bags, crates and boxes shifted across the pavement of the courtyard while citizens and tourists alike fought for attention to haggle and barter through the wares on display. Nyx kept a tight hold on Noct through the noise and jostle, tucking him close like he had when they had gone to meet with Crowe— that first time to his apartment. He smiled as Noct pulled him along rather than shied away from the disorienting noise, drawn forward by familiar steps he could pick out of the crowd or towards the voices of his friends. 

Nyx muttered descriptions to him— about what caught his eye, what his friends were doing, what wares seemed to be in the highest demand. Iggy examined handfuls of nuts and fruits, conical piles of spices laid out with labels scrawled across yellowed pieces of paper. Gladio paused at the posters for bounties and advertisements, the restaurant at the far end plastered with them by some tipster or hunter— until he was caught up in a box of books set aside on a table and forgotten. Prompto stayed close, rattled off his own narrative to complement Nyx’s, grinning the while as he told Noct about the baubles and salvaged parts spread out between kitchenwares and foods. They worked their way through the stalls, with the subtle push and pulls from Noct as direction for them both. 

“Well?”

“Well, what, kitten?”

“You going to tell me anything more than just what it looks like? Or are you my seeing-eye Glaive now?”

“Don’t know what you mean.”

“The spices over there smell like that stuff we had with Crowe.” Noct paused for a moment at the edge of the market stalls, where the street food sizzled on compact grills, and were piled high in tantalising temptations. He pointed in the direction of a cart stocked with skewers; the sauce dripping in an overflow to the pavement below. “And those smell like the ones you keep picking up at home.”

“There’s a Galahdian element to the market,” Nyx smiled, not surprised by the details Noct could pick up on. He eyes up the colours adorning some of the carts— the flags from some of the vendors. “You got that right. But it’s not my island. It’s all stuff from a bit further north.”

“What do you mean?”

Nyx brought them to the cart, selected a familiar skewer from the ones on offer, and had the cook make it fresh for them to share. “These are darker meats. Heavy than the stuff I usually get. The spices are different too.”

“Smell the same.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

Noct grinned, head turned towards the cart as he tried to pick up whatever differences Nyx was talking about. He gave up well before the food was pressed into his hand, the sauce saved from dripping onto his hand by Nyx’s careful manoeuvring and a napkin. The first tentative nibble of the food— once they had moved out of the way of anyone else, and Noct could tell that Nyx was on the look out for Ignis’ disapproval— had Noct confused. “It’s not spicy.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“But the smells—”

“Are just for show. This is traditional stuff, little star. They like their things sweet in the north.”

“I like it.” 

Nyx stole the food back to have a bite, and let Noct finish off the rest. He wrapped the end of the stick in a napkin before it was handed back, smiled as Noct still tested the taste before taking a more confident bite. “You would.” 

By the time they had wandered back to the Leville, the streetlights had flickered to life around them. The city was washed in warm light and the faint blues of the gorge beyond the lookout; the power plant rose above the other buildings set in their tight, claustrophobic blocks like a beacon for travellers. There were more people gathered in the streets, at the bistros, along the thoroughfares during the sweltering twilight than during the day— the heat not affected by the dark. 

“It’s pretty romantic,” Nyx teased, as Prompto insisted they stop for a picture at the fountain in the Leville courtyard. The fountain itself was lit by sets of delicate lights set throughout the stone behind the water; the shine of reflected and refracted light glittering anew with the movement. He leaned close to Noct, smiled as Prompto bounded over to another corner of the courtyard on Gladio’s heels; “You look beautiful in all these lights.”

“You sap,” but Noct didn’t pull away from the teased embrace, or shift uncomfortably under the attention, even as the others called for them to hurry up. Nyx released him enough to follow the others back inside, to the cooler air of the well-managed hotel. He knew that they would still stay together late, talk through their plans for the next few days. 

The trip wasn’t meant to be a leisurely vacation for them. They had reports to send back, rumours to chase. They had plans to make to search out the rest of Noct’s Armiger where they could, to chase the tail end of stories around the kingdom in the hopes that the gathered power could help set Noct on his own path to being a king under the new peace. They had to find a way to meet the Oracle— to penetrate the Imperial guard that would be set in her shadow, if only just for a few hours of talk. 

And there were still no standing orders beyond the statements they left the Citadel with. 

Nyx knew that he should be worried. That he should be concerned over the potential for disaster— Nif patrols in the kingdom, the Oracle expected to be at the treaty signing whenever it was to be announced, the expectation that Noct would return to the city for the same event, stronger than he was. More capable than he already was. He knew that he should be terrified at these mission parameters, at the fact that the mission itself seemed to be almost an illusion— that any similar orders out on the front lines with his unit would be a death sentence at best. A narrow escape back to safety at worst— with casualties and injuries, and all the horrors of front lines that Nyx did not want to think could be visited on this little group of wayward boys. 

On Noct. 

But tonight, at the very least, he could admire Noct in the warm light of Lestallum. He could watch the prince laugh with his friends, dragged inside to the hotel rooms waiting for them. He could kiss that silly, bright smile, and admire the way Noct’s hands seemed to explore him, despite knowing every inch of him already. He could grin and tease that they needed to be quiet, because the hotel walls may not be as private as the Citadel. 

In the morning, when the sweltering heat returned in force, he would worry about the mission details. About ancient swords and Imperial treaties. 

For now, he had Noct in the warm light of the city, and no Wall shimmering overhead to distort the stars.


	28. Sword of the Wanderer

They had decided, mostly unanimously, that Noctis would not be going to all of the Royal Tombs that had been sealed away. Those that were hidden in the more dangerous places— the mountains, the Rock of Ravatogh— would be sat out, or accessed by those he trusted the most. The agreement had been how Nyx ended up in the Greyshire Grotto with Prompto and Drautos, the key to the Tombs a constant weight in his pocket, even as he realised how poorly prepared any of them were for the adventure. 

Pelna had been happy to see him, handing him a tracker, and fitting Prompto with an earpiece before they made their way into the caves behind the waterfall. Drautos had led them to the spot— the little natural bridge that overlooked the narrow river, and the remains of the shieldshears they had left below— and insisted he join them. But that was the extent of their preparations. Nyx would document what he could, for the royal archives, as Prompto took his pictures. 

There had been some trepidation about splitting up their group, about delaying Noctis from going after the Royal Arms himself. Back in Lestallum, under Ignis’ guidance and training, Noct collected the information for the reports to send home to his father. Guarded by Gladio and Luche alike, Noct would listen to the concerns of the people regarding the treaty as the negotiations dragged on. As territories were sacrificed for peace. 

Nyx had left Lestallum with a cheeky grin he knew didn’t fool anyone, and a quiet kiss. He left with a confident wave to Luche and reassurances that they would meet up at their rendezvous in the outpost near where the Tomb was rumoured, once the excuses could be made in the city. With Prompto at his heel and eager to help, to pick up where the documents left off, to bring back adventures that were too dangerous to risk a blind prince (regardless of what Noct insisted). 

Now, slipping through the Greyshire caverns, Nyx already missed the heat of Lestallum beating down on him. He missed the oppressive warmth of the crowded city with far too many people in far too small a place. And the strange, incessant hum and pulse of the meteor that was harvested and converted into power for the countryside. The ice of the cavern walls burned as he tried to steady himself, his armour doing little to protect him from the bite that followed the quickest touches, and he missed the humidity that wafted up to their rooms in the Leville from the Duscaen wetlands when the winds were right. 

“Enjoying your assignment?” the captain asked when they agreed to take a short break and to re-orient themselves, their breath hanging in the air before them and the remains of the daemons killed freezing before seeping into whatever Scourge infested miasma that had created them. They had crowded around the stones jutting from the floor, the flames of raw magic licking at the bare stone, and emanating the first promise of heat they could find. Nyx could swear that he saw steam rising from their hands as they warmed themselves. “Not that it was any chore to have you babysit the prince.”

“It’s a good job, sir,” Nyx wasn’t in the mood to rise to the bait now. He trusted Drautos’ judgement when it was needed to lead, not in their personal assignments. Not when something had kept his work at Noct’s side— his position at Noct’s side— still strictly labelled confidential by every other ranked member of Regis’ household. “Usually quieter than this.”

Prompto shifted next to him, settled closer to the little flame that they both knew Noct would have trapped in his own hands to get them moving again. To his credit, Prompto knew when to just listen, and watch, and document. The banter of Glaives was far above him right now, but Nyx knew that the kid was going to record everything for Noct. He was always good to catch the prince up on what was being missed. On what was being said or done when no one thought the prince would know. And Drautos had been habitual in underestimating his younger charges— Prompto had already proved his worth against the daemons lurking in the depths of the caverns, scared but competent with his weapons and wits. 

It was only a matter of time before Noct would need to step up the same way to prove his worth to people like Drautos. 

“I’m sure you can do better than that, Ulric,” Drautos offered a smile— the familiar one, that Nyx remembered from his days training in far warmer places than this icy maze. “Here you are, out playing errand boy to collect a piece of the ancient Armiger for a prince who will never need it. You can come clean.”

“Clean, sir?”

“You’re not my Glaive anymore. They have you tethered to the prince.”

Something turned in Nyx’s gut at the statement. That had been listed as confidential. That had not meant to leave the sealed records of the Citadel study and offices. Not yet, anyway. 

“Dammit, Crowe,” he muttered before he meant to, and it sounded like he may as well have shouted it through the cavern. The source of his own magic was meant to stay sealed in the Citadel. Only they had let it get out, and Nyx straightened to get a better look at the captain in the dim light reflected from their own travel torches. He tried to get a sense of the captain’s opinion, of the disapproval he knew would never outright show on the man’s face. Drautos was too disciplined for that. “Doesn’t make me any less of a Glaive.”

“No it doesn’t.” Drautos agreed. “Probably makes you more of one, if anything. But remember what I told you, Ulric.”

“Hard to forget, sir.” He didn’t mean to snap out the title— to bite it back like he was threatening another bout of insubordination despite not being directly under the captain’s command anymore. He hadn’t had to obey the rules of real rank for ages. He didn’t even know where he stood in the line anymore— he answered to Noct, to the Shield, to the Marshal, to the King. To whichever was closest at hand. 

And none of them ever seemed to have an issue if he wanted to argue an order. 

The captain nodded, satisfied at least that his lessons still held, and started back on the path that had only loosely been mapped out for them. 

In the dark, with the slide of their boots along the thinning ice, Prompto fell into step at his side and muttered a quiet “awkward.” Nyx resisted the urge to shove the kid’s shoulder in admonishment, but he failed at biting back the grin. 

The Tomb was buried deep in the cold dark, between the walls of ice, and swarmed with the daemons that had been lurking far from the sun. It would have been easy to miss, if not for the pulse of Lucian power that drew Nyx to it; the promise of something strong sealed away in the dark of the caverns. And it was the flash of Prompto’s camera, reflected in the polished door, coated with a sheen of ice like everything else in the misnamed “grotto”, that brought them to the last few feet of their adventure. The carvings in the stone either side of the door— the last indication that the Tomb was there, and untouched— were coated with the thing shine of the ice, reflecting a crystalline chill with each new picture Prompto struggled to catch. The cold had seeped in past their armour, the threat of the dark far more menacing than the reverberating growls and grumbles of daemons dragging their claws along the ice of the walls, or the clatter where the chipped ice fell— the crystalline echo in the distant unseen depths. They had been in the cavern for hours, wandering the maze of the place where some ancient king found it fit to be buried. 

Nyx was not surprised in the least to see Umbra already down there, already sitting by the door with the divine fluff of a messenger keeping him warm while they all froze. 

Drautos was the one who paused at the sight, who hesitated while the dog’s strange eyes looked them over with far more intelligence than any mere animal that had wandered too far. Prompto crouched to greet the creature as he would any pet— with a bright smile and a playful ruffle of the thick fur. He sank his hands into the thick ruff around the dog’s neck and Nyx almost envied him the sudden warmth and softness. 

The door opened with a hard shove once unlocked, the ice that had covered it cracking away as Nyx struggled with the weight. Noct had never had trouble with the Tombs, but then it also never felt like the judgement of the Lucii was about to rain down on him for opening the door. When Noct handled the key and the doors, they almost welcomed the prince in. The air of the Tombs they had visited had been clearer, open, drawing the prince in towards his birthright. And in the back of Nyx’s mind— in the little piece shared and tethered to Noct— he felt the sense of power and ownership that came when he lifted the strange weapon from the memorial. 

He could understand why the weapons were so coveted among the hunters roaming the kingdoms. They bled promises of power. 

It was Umbra’s bark that snapped him back to the chilled reality of the cavern and the Tomb. 

Nyx knelt in the sparse light and ignored the way the captain seemed to be assessing every part of the situation. They could see, with experienced eyes, how the weapon was meant to work; where it could be broken apart to two smaller, lightweight blades. Nyx could see how the heavier single weapon could be used to block, to beat down on an enemy, but he didn’t feel the same understanding that Noct seemed to have from the weapons. There was no immediate recognition, no innate understanding of how the weapon could function or the style that would best suit it. 

And once more Nyx worried that the Armiger would lead to Noct losing a piece of himself, the more he let his ancestors in. 

Umbra stood before him in the cold. The dog’s strange gold eyes watching him with a more passive assessment than Drautos. With a clear expectation, even as Prompto trotted up to break the quiet. “Now what? We get this to Noct?”

“We get this to Noct,” Nyx agreed, offering the Royal Arm to the dog. The harness the creature wore was empty, and Nyx wondered if it would be safe to secure the weapon that way— like the how the little letters from Regis came to them. Instead, Umbra moved to take the handle of the weapon in his mouth and happily trotted off on his task, already out of sight before the three of them left the Tomb and resealed the door. 

“That’s the King’s dog,” Drautos said once they had left the grave. Once they had stepped back into the open cold of the caverns and felt that the oppressive weight of the daemons had vanished. 

“A messenger of the Six,” Prompto offered in explanation, hands shoved deep into his pockets as they started the trek out. 

“A fairytale.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Nyx offered a grin, ignoring the cold to drape his jacket across Prompto’s shoulders when he caught the young man shivering again. “You saw it yourself.”

It wasn’t until they were back at the mouth of the cave, where the spray from the waterfall was misting around them, that Drautos spoke more than his barked orders again; “You think the King of Lucis has the Six on his side, Ulric.”

Nyx did. He had seen too much of the magic in Lucis, felt too much of it through the tether to the royal line, to believe anything other than the power of the Crystal and the gods. “I don’t know, sir. It’s not exactly something that comes up a lot in general conversation. Would it change anything?”

“Change anything? The king could have called down the power of gods at anytime to end the war, and he didn’t.”

“It can’t be that simple” Nyx felt something twist in his gut— a sense of the familiar old doubts that Drautos had always stirred up when they were on the field. He recalled the way the beasts were tamed and twisted by the Niflheim armies, the daemons dragged out to the battlefields after dark and loosed on the Lucian army. He recalled the way they were beaten off the siege lines time and again, and wondered what would have changed in the war if they had the backing of Titan or Shiva or Ramuh to cut through the enemies on behalf of the king. “And I didn’t know you were a believer, sir.”

“I’m not.” 

There was a bite to Drautos’ tone as he stalked away from the dark of the cave. He passed where Prompto and Pelna were huddled together over Pelna’s equipment, consolidating the footage Prompto had gathered together. Now that they were out in the open air again, the warmth flooded back. Nyx watched Drautos leave, knew that the captain had other orders, had other duties to attend. He had made it clear when they collected in Lestallum that this little trip into Greyshire was a favour done for the sake of Pelna’s maps. For the records meant to be provided to the king. 

Orders and rendezvous instructions had been agreed upon before they even made the trip out to the outpost nearest the Greyshire in the little truck that had been afforded to Pelna and Luche when they initially left with Cor. The captain had other means of transportation, and Pelna had assured them that he never missed a meeting. 

“He’s always like that,” Pelna said when Prompto seemed put off by the captain; “He’s really a big teddy bear.”

“Complete with the claws,” Nyx offered a smile as he stepped out from the shade to the afternoon sun. “We should head back. Wait for the others where we said we would.”

“You’re actually suggesting we follow the plan, Nyx? That’s new.”

“What?” Prompto straightened, new maps and reports for the next nearest Tomb in hand for Ignis, Glaive coat still across his shoulders. “Nyx is always coming up with the plans with Iggy. He’s been a killjoy this whole time.”

“Really? Nyx, what happened to you?”

“Funny, Pelna. Let’s just get somewhere warm.”

The rest area was a short walk from the waterfall, from the sign that served as the only indication that there was anything of interest along the narrow, rough path. Where the river widened, Nyx guided his companions away from the empty stretch of open grass and shrubs— the slick form of a snake slipped beneath the waves as they approached, and his hands were still numb from the caves. The afternoon sun had started to dip low, but the outpost’s lights warded off the threat of the night— warding off the reminder that the hills will soon be swarmed with whatever daemons they hadn’t killed in the caves, and those new ones that seemed to claw their way up from whatever hell they slept in during daylight. 

Prompto took the steps up to the road two at a time when he heard the familiar barking above them. 

The Regalia was parked carefully in one of the spots overlooking the steps. Overlooking the stretch of lush green and the wide river that cut across the Cleigne farmlands. It was a welcome sight, but not as reassuring as the soft conversation drifting from the flimsy picnic tables secured outside the old caravan. 

“It’s not really called that,” Noctis’ voice was clear, the edge of disbelief hindered by amusement. And it drew Nyx in. 

“I’m afraid it is,” Ignis said, offering a smile and nod in greeting; “And here come Nyx and Prompto. I’m sure they’ll confirm it.”

“Confirm what?” Prompto finally shrugged off the coat and draped it across the table, giving Noct’s shoulder a pat as he fell heavily into a seat.

“That this place is called ‘Burbost Souvenir Emporium’.”

“I’m afraid it is, little star,” Nyx ignored the looks Pelna and Luche threw his way at the familiarity, at the nickname, at the way he slipped a cold hand to Noct’s neck and grinned as the prince recoiled. 

“How the hell are you so hold?”

“Ice cavern. You would have hated it.”

“Did you get the sword?” Prompto asked, as Ignis secured a letter to the Citadel in Umbra’s harness before sending the messenger off. 

Noct nodded, attention following Nyx’s movement to the nearest seat; “Gladio said we’ll train later, when we get to a haven or something. After the next stop.”

Nyx took Noct’s warmer hands in his own, willing some feeling back now that the chill was finally seeping through on its course. “What’s the next stop.”

From where he had crouched to secure his missive to the Citadel, to the king, Ignis made a noncommittal noise; “That has yet to be determined.”

That gave Nyx pause, even as Noct nodded his head in agreement. Gladio, at least had planned most of their route and stops. He had pinpointed havens and outposts that were meant to provide their little group with minimal exposure to the rest of the kingdom unless they wanted to. To let them travel as below the radar as possible, given the circumstances of their trip out. Ignis had checked their routes just as thoroughly, planned their meals and check-ins, the slightest details that could decide between whatever plans he had in place. There was something wrong if there was an undecided stop in their road. If they had not planned for some eventuality. 

He saw the quick, but pointed glance Gladio gave to Luche, and held off his questions.


	29. Malmalam Thicket Reunion

“Okay, what exactly happened?” 

The caravan was not the most private of meeting places. The thin walls would barely mask any sort of normal conversation if someone cared to linger outside. But the tight quarters and easy excuses of five young men made it the best place they had next to the Regalia, and there had been a general consensus that no one should be driving while they talked through what Nyx and Prompto had missed in Lestallum. The sterile, ‘just-cleaned’ smell of the place already had Noct wishing to go back to the Leville, to someplace where the residual cleaning products didn’t assault his senses as he tried to get used to a new location by touch and sound. 

Pelna and Luche had moved on to Old Lestallum and its motel. The loose plan to visit the hunters in Meldacio, or the Vesperpool left hanging between them, an informal report noted for them to follow. There was a Tomb near the lake, one that they knew existed and could be managed by Noct. 

It was the easiest lead they could feed someone they didn’t trust. 

Ignis already had the map spread out among the too-small table in the caravan. Noctis could hear the way the paper moved, and the movement of his friend’s hand as he tried to smooth it out in the tight space. “That Glaive tried to plant a tracking device on us.”

“What?” Noct could feel the surprise in Nyx, the tension suddenly next to him as they had been pressed together in the narrow bench seat. 

The prince offered a nod in confirmation; “Iggy found it when he was getting us ready to leave.”

“But,” Prompto had managed to contort himself into the bunks near the actual bedroom at the back of the trailer, Noct had listened, and smiled, as his friend fussed and shifted around when they were trying to get started; “don’t our phones track us? Like, that was kind of the point, wasn’t it? All the standard and royal issue stuff they gave us?”

“That’s why we’re concerned,” Gladio was near the door, turned away from the group enough that Noct had to lean closer to hear his quietly rumbled contribution. It had been Gladio’s tension since the discovery that had him more worried than normal. “We’re already tracked, and we already report in on a more frequent basis than the Crownsguard usually do.”

“Which means that whatever Luche was doing wasn’t for the Guard or the Glaive.”

Noct could feel the tension in the confined space. Next to him, Nyx folded his hands over the map as he thought, as he puzzled through the new problem and suspicions. So he cleared his throat to bring his Glaive back to attention; “So we’re just going to be more careful. And Iggy’s been setting something up through Umbra.”

“Setting what up?”

There were havens dotted throughout the kingdom. Most were already well known, like the ones they had stopped at in Leide. Others were carefully hidden little places that lay dormant for months in the overgrown wilds; the pulse of their divine protections muted on the less-travelled roads. There was another Tomb to the south, in the dense forests rarely visited by even the hunters— the creatures that prowled the place left in peace for years. Ignis indicated the forest on the map; “We’ll be going to Malmalam Thicket, technically. But not for the Tomb there. The haven on the outskirts of the forest itself is accessible, but private. And I have Gladio’s assurances that it doesn’t see much traffic.”

“Hunters won’t usually go to places that have royal protections on the wildlife unless there’s something major wrong,” Gladio agreed. 

Noct felt Nyx shift next to him, he could hear the frustration in the Glaive’s breath, in his movements. In the way that he drummed his fingers across the narrow space of the table they were pressed up again. In the back of his mind, Noct could feel the familiarity of Nyx’s essence tethered through the loaned magic, through the ire that begged to be raised as sparks or flame just rolling beneath borrowed skin. He knew that they were being vague, that they hadn’t gone through details or plans yet; that they had agreed, without two members of their little group, to deviate from the carefully set out plans in the wake of possible threats no one had considered. 

It was all just precaution. 

Nyx started; “Is anyone going to tell me why—” 

“We have confirmation to meet the Oracle there,” Noct supplied before Ignis or Gladio could provide a more measured response. “Dad is having her escorted into the safety of Insomnia, and we’re going to wait with her there.”

“I don’t believe the plan was worded in quite the same way,” Ignis said, the map being refolded between them. “But that’s correct. We are to stay with the Lady Lunafreya until her escort from Insomnia arrives. It should only be a day or two at most. If that.”

There was a moment where the information hung between them. Noct knew this pattern, he knew the way Nyx would puzzle through the situation for himself— the revelation of the attempted tracking, the misdirection, the more clandestine mission that would supplant their original tasks of collecting the Royal Arms and the voice of the people. There was a moment when Noct knew that every worst case scenario that he was tired of hearing about would cycle through the Glaive’s mind. And he knew that Nyx was looking to Ignis now for confirmation, to Gladio for affirmation of this new plan. 

That, in a moment, they’ll be communicating silently. 

“I can hear you looking at each other.”

“How? That doesn’t even work, little prince.”

“Yes, it does.” He elbowed Nyx to get him on task. “Out loud, or not at all.”

Gladio’s chuckle was muffled— by his hand, if Noct guessed— and Prompto’s grin was evident in his voice when he spoke; “You’re so demanding, buddy.”

In the narrow space of the crowded booth, Nyx slipped an arm across his shoulders. The tension and trepidation was forced out in favour of moving closer until they were pressed together in the shared seat. “Fine. You lead, I follow, little star. Even if it means kidnapping an Imperial princess.”

“Guarding,” Ignis supplied; “and she is Tenebrae’s princess, not the Empire. They are the ones who asked that the Oracle attend the treaty signing.”

“We’re just making it happen on our terms,” Gladio finally left his sentry post at the doorway, hovering instead at tableside to take the map from Ignis’ hands; “so she can’t be used by them.”

“So we’re using her instead?” Nyx asked. 

“I trust dad,” Noct said, intended to leave the debate at that. “Luna wouldn’t support the Nifs, and dad thinks she’d be in danger if we don’t offer some sort of protection. Or that the Nifs will do something to hurt her if we don’t comply to their terms.”

Ignis slipped from his seat at the table once Gladio had started to put their plans— whatever evidence there was of them— away. With another Royal Arm added to his Armiger, Noct wanted nothing more than to take off into the cooler night air to practice. To exhaust himself with his own magic, to test the way the new weapon would feel in his hand. He remembered the weight of it— the heaviness in his hands and how easily they slipped apart into two blades. How he had found the latch on instinct, and the weapon obeyed his touch as easily as his own sword did. 

Ignis had moved between himself and Luche as soon as Umbra trotted over with the sword in his mouth— weightless in the possession of a messenger. Gladio had done the same for the duration of their ride up, a careful eye on the Glaive following at their heel, once the tracking device had been found. He remembered the way his awareness expanded, knowledge of the kingdom seemed to surface like long-forgotten stories. He could place Luche, and now Nyx, by their accents— the subtle shifts in speech and tone that he had never noticed before. He could tell that Ignis was not raised in Tenebrae, but his parents were, his mannerism and accent a generation removed. 

Once the sword had been joined with his Armiger— the quick bite and sharp pain of the blade vanishing to the Crystal’s magic— Noct felt that he knew all of Lucis, all of Eos, better. 

And he wanted to test those new limits. 

The Sword of the Wise and Axe of Conqueror had only expanded his basic knowledge. He thought. He had already known the history of he kingdom, the founding, the conquests that built it. There had been loaned strength rather than instinct or memory. 

But now he knew what dawn looked like over the ocean at the bay that made up Galdin Quay. He knew what starts would guide him to Cape Caem while on the waters. He knew the lush forests and great canyons of Galahd— the only wonders not cut through the earth by divine magic, like the scars left on Lucis after Solheim’s fall. He knew the dry wastes between Lucis and Niflheim, and the ancient ruins that dotted the world. Though he had never seen any of them for himself. 

He wanted to know what else the Wanderer would show him. 

The threat of the daemons, a distant echo worrying at the back of his perception as they stalked the edges of the light from the outpost, was negligible now. He felt the strength of his Armiger eager to cut away at the Scourge that had plagued his kingdom. 

“You listening?” Nyx pulled him back to the tiny caravan with the soft question. To the voices of his friends as they bickered over dinner, to Prompto’s movements as he opened the door to let in the cool night air— the winds having turned to carry a hint of the fresh smell of the waterfall. He was grounded by the Glaive’s hand in his hair, a comforting touch that he leaned towards. “Because you looked miles away.”

“Just tired, hero. Nothing to worry about.”

“I always worry.”

“Because you need a hobby. I’m fine.”

The press of lips to his temple was enough to cement his hold on the present, on the way the caravan creaked with their movements and the wind. On Gladio’s heavy steps as he followed Prompto out to the crisp air of the night, and Ignis’ tutting at them for abandoning him to cook dinner alone again. For the evening, it was enough. “Tell me about your adventure.”

He banished the residual memory of the pristine waterfall, the glacial caves, the roads that had been rough through the mountains when first explored. 

“The cold part? Or the fun part?” Nyx teased. 

“All of it.” 

Nights in caravans were cold. The thin walls and the winds across the Cleigne province would chill the metal around them and cause it to creak under the strain. More than once, Noct realised that he missed the warmth of home— the familiar Citadel rooms that seemed to sprawl out in comparison to the Leville room and the caravan. Or the welcoming comforts of Nyx’s little apartment nestled deep among the vibrant chaos of his culture. Where even the rains fell warm when Nyx navigated them through the warren-like lower city and to the trains and buses they used to sneak through unnoticed. He missed the noise and life that seemed to spread wherever he went, and the rich mix of cultures the further he let himself be taken from the city heart. 

The provinces were quiet in comparison; Prompto happy to narrate whatever they passed or that passed them. There were the calls and cries of the beasts wandering the land, wild and tamed alike. The wind would turn and carry the strange smells of farms that had Noct wrinkling his nose until he got used to it, and knowing that at least Ignis was doing the same (if the teasing from Gladio and Nyx was anything to go by). He knew there was a different sort of sprawling life out beyond the Wall. He could smell the freshness of the wilds and the forests, hear the creatures that wandered and moved and hunted along the open spaces, and hear the cars as they passed— far from the constant traffic of Insomnia. 

When they had been coming up to the outpost for the rendezvous, Noct had missed the stream of narration from Prompto. Had missed the way he pointed out signs and points of interest. The way he practically begged for them to stop so he could grab just one more picture. 

They had all been more concerned with figuring out how to handle the problem of a possible traitor on the loose at the time. Ignis had taken the tracking device at the time, but never mentioned its fate. Noct assumed that it had been deactivated— sent back to be identified or destroyed if needed. 

Now, settled out in the morning sun, as he listened to his friends argue over supplies, Noct decided that he could miss home a little bit longer. The had spent most of the night talking, coaxing stories from Nyx about the Glaive when he ran out of things to say about the Greyshire and Prompto had alluded to far more interesting interactions with the Captain. And Noct could only run through what he knew of the Captain against the stories of wartime valour from Nyx— ideas that Drautos used to step up on the front lines, and now in training. He tended to throw his strength around, to keep a tight eye on those in his charge. Nyx talked about Drautos almost as a father figure he butted heads with, rather than a commanding officer. 

Noct had only ever known Drautos as the quiet bulk of a man who seemed to always be in his father’s shadow when Cor was away. 

“We’ll be going a bit off trail,” Ignis reminded them once they had settled what was essential to restock before leaving. “While not directly into Malmalam Thicket, the haven should still be fairly secluded.” 

“Will Luna already be there?” Noct was happy for the distraction from his wonderings of the Captain— concern that started to rise at the idea that the Captain might have ordered Luche to plant the tracker. He didn’t bother to turn towards Ignis as his friend took a seat at the small table with him; Ignis would know that he was paying attention. 

“Possibly,” the plans beyond their movements had been more fluid. The messengers had helped them orchestrate the whole meeting— the clandestine events as Prompto insisted on calling it— but most of the details were going through the Citadel and his father. “We are to wait two days if she doesn’t meet us, before we move on and return to our original purpose. But I’m sure Umbra will deliver orders before then.”

“What do you think of this whole idea, Iggy?”

The teasing was obvious to Noct; he knew every nuance of his friend’s voice and tone— despite the man’s ability to keep a straight face to throw off the others. “Of meeting the Lady Lunafreya? I think it would be wonderful. You still seem so taken with her, it’s hard not to admire from afar. I’m sure Nyx will be quite jealous.”

“Ass,” Noct smiled against the edge of his cooling coffee, and held the mug out for Ignis to take when he was done. “I meant this plan. Getting Luna to Insomnia. I mean, the Nifs would want her there anyway. Why would dad try to step in and just change the route she’d take.”

“Because she’s the Oracle, Noct. If she arrives with the Nifs, they can use it as propaganda to make it seem like the most powerful person in Eos sides with them. The king is attempting to prevent her from being a tool for their media, by giving her the choice of attending or not. And of which side she’d choose to stand on.”

“Right…”

“Trust the king, Noct. He knows what he’s doing.”

“I know. And I do.” He offered up a brighter smile to Ignis, even as he heard the familiar, heavy footsteps of Gladio and Nyx approaching. “And he trusts us to look after her.”

“Your father has every faith in you, Noct. Now, shall we get on the road?”

The road to Malmalam Thicket and its secluded haven was an easy one; despite the frequent stops Prompto begged for to get new photos. Noct knew that they were following the river, that they had skirted the edges of Old Lestallum and a quiet Nif base that seemed to lay dormant at a crossroads. He listened and dozed for what should have taken little over an hour but was stretched to nearly three with the short breaks between turnings and crossings; Prompto insisting that they stop for something new or strange— the rise of the Rock of Ravatogh despite their turning away from the smell of burnt stone and sulphur that wafted down on the breeze, the spot in the river where it branched off, Old Lestallum and its barriers nestled in the point. Nyx kept him tucked under an arm, small observations about the greenery, about the distant town of Old Lestallum as they passed, about the wide river that seemed to wind its way across the entire kingdom. Noct could smell the freshness of the air that trailed along the water, hear the quiet rush of it when they had stopped. 

“Does anyone even live out here?” Prompto had asked once the road changed from paved to rough gravel. Once the open air had closed in with the trees and the Regalia was pulled to a stop for the last time. 

Noct whined as he was dragged from the car, stiff from sitting as he had been, nestled against Nyx’s side. “It’s too wild to be farmed.” 

“How do you know that?” the snapping of Prompto’s camera filled the air, the gravel moved beneath his boots as he started to wander for more shots, more memories of the reaches of the kingdom. 

“Because it smells like a forest. Not a farm.”

“Wait, there’s a difference?”

Noct chuckled as he stretched, trusting his friends to gather whatever they needed, whatever they would need to keep close. He kept hold of Nyx’s hand and followed the trail left by the elemental deposits, by the raw power that protected the haven. He could sense it close by, and the pulse of it called to him. Around him, the woods breathed— the scent of rot and wood and all the richness of untroubled land reminded him of Tenebrae and its forests and gardens. He remembered the rise of the trees and the way the wind carried the pollen through the arches and open balconies. And the familiar pulse of divine power around him joined the less familiar scent of a campfire already burning. 

“Noct, there’s—”

“Prince Noctis,” he would always know the soft tones of Luna’s voice— the comfort and ease of it. He remembered her laughter and sweetness that had calmed him as a child, when he was scared and hurt, and overwhelmed by the loss of his eyes. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“Luna?”

Nyx gave him a little push forward, and there was a moment where he was caught between two worlds. Nyx was solid and comforting, still at his back. But Luna… Luna was everything he had missed as a child. The warm and pleasant memories lost amid screams and pleas and the stench of a forest burning. He felt Luna’s hands take his own as he struggled to catch up and out of his own memory. 

He could smell sylleblossoms. He could sense her power as it moved through her touch and touched old wounds that had long since healed. Something behind his eyes ached— the memory of the previous Oracle drawing out Scourge and trying to knit injuries together to heal clawing its way forward like a phantom pain at the touch. 

“I’m so glad to see you, Prince Noctis.”


	30. Malmalam Haven

Nyx missed home. 

Here, setting up camp on the quiet haven still within sight of the rough roads and near-empty parking space, he could only marvel about how much Libertus and Crowe would have said it looked like home, how they would have marvelled at the rise of the hills and the rush of the wide river. Like their old camping haunts in the canyon they had spent long summers climbing, exploring, and remaining oblivious to the Niflheim incursions when they were young. Where the trees bent heavy with their leaves and years, and the small songbirds and larger birdbeasts patrolled the skies and river. Where the muted roar of the rushing water seemed to pass with no beginning or end— just a long-stretched moment that greeted them when they arrived and saw them off when it was time to go home, and stayed ingrained in their memories from one year to the next.

The only thing to shatter the nostalgic illusion was the lack of canyon walls; of the Lucian hills being a far more gentle rise around them than the steep, sudden, rocky cliffs they used to scale and test, moving from one crumbled section to another with each new path down. The trees were all wrong, too. Different types and younger, with the stacks of logs left abandoned in the parking space long enough for rot and mushrooms to settle in. Probably a nest or two of some rodent Nyx wouldn’t recognise right away. But the trees were thin, slender things— the whisper of winds shaking their leaves and branches until the sunlight danced across the thick grasses. There were no overarching branches linked together across the roads, so stumps so wide they could serve as a new haven if needed. No ancient logs that had been toppled by storms, picked apart by time and creatures in the already dense forest, until only remnants of a trunk shell was all that had been left, to be played with by a group of Galahdian children. 

That, and the fact that the Oracle was sitting with the Crown Prince of Lucis while the camp was set up around them— her Imperial whites practically a beacon in the forest thinned enough to cut a road through, though muted somewhat by a beige coat thrown across her shoulders. They had been talking quietly while the tents were raised and secured, while Ignis set up his workstation to at least get something more than river water boiled over the firepit started. Offers of help from the Oracle had been politely and delicately turned down, insistences countered with promises that the work would be done soon, and that she was a guest in the kingdom. 

Nyx had almost wanted to ask her to fetch the water, if only to see how the Niflheim High Commander would react to the request. Pained as he seemed to even be in the kingdom. 

“Pretty sure there’s a court martial in this for you. That’s usually a death sentence, right? Sort of like looking at the wrong Imperial?” Nyx muttered to the stern-faced man when things had quieted down, as he finished setting up what he had been asked to. When Ignis had moved from securing his own territory on the haven plateau to acting as host with an apologetic coffee for the Oracle and explanation that they hadn’t thought to bring tea for her. The Commander’s Imperial insignia had all but been removed; indications of rank and reward taken from the white coat, while the Tenebrean shield remained. “Didn’t think Tenebrae was the open rebellion sort.”

“No, I wouldn’t assume you were much of a thinker. Galahd isn’t much known for them, I understand.”

“Ravus!” Luna scolded as she overheard the comment, mug of courtesy coffee in one hand as the other held on to Noct’s arm, leading the prince across the short distance with a soft touch of guidance. Nyx could see the family resemblance in the scowls shared between brother and sister. “You said you’d behave.”

“To the prince, not his guard dog.”

Nyx offered a grin in his own response; the promissory one saved for when the Nif officers saw him on the battlefield. The one that had his travelling companions watching for the moment to intervene as needed, and had Prompto taking a step closer to Noct— to where it was safest. “That’s interesting coming from a rabid Nif. Or are you off leash now?”

“Nyx,” Noct’s warning came with a punch to his arm, “don’t start anything.”

“My apologies, Prince Noctis,” Ravus’ eyes were on his sister as he spoke, the words bitten out under Luna’s stern look; “It’s been a difficult journey.”

Nyx didn’t care what kind of journey the two had. He didn’t want to care. The Oracle was nice enough, strong enough; she had been a victim of circumstances and fate from what he understood. From what rumours had been passed through the Citadel for the twelve years since Noct returned from the former ally and the healings of the Oracle. From what he understood of the situation, the Oracle was the key to the treaty here; Regis’ trump card for support among all of Eos. But no one got to the position of a High Commander without being fully aware of what that military did with its power. Of what history was laid at the feet of the position, or what was done in the colonised territories now to maintain the position. 

And this place reminded him too much of home. 

He shrugged and looked to Noct, knowing that the prince would pick up on the tension first. “I’m not apologising. He started it.”

Nyx had to admit that he had never seen a High Commander of the Imperial forces pout before; “I—”

“Ravus!”

When he wanted to, Noct had an excellent poker face— it helped that he couldn’t see the reactions and tells of those around him, that he could only really react to sound and tone and movement, all more honest than the look in someone’s face. Nyx still caught the way Noct bit back his own smirk, to school his features carefully into the diplomatic mask that he had perfected in the face of the criticisms of the Citadel. Carefully and slowly, the prince, eased the hold the Oracle had on him and slipped towards his Glaive, “Nyx, let’s go for a walk.”

Nyx huffed as he let himself be dragged off, stepping lightly as he led Noct down from the haven. He shared a smirk with Gladio as he passed the Shield, and eased Noct down the incline from the haven. He could hear Ignis’ diplomatic distractions, and Prompto’s happy chatter to fill the quiet, but he wanted to bring Noct as far away as possible from anyone who may have even once sworn allegiance to the Empire. “Noct—”

A hand moved up to his mouth to quiet him, and he could still see the schooled expression fighting for dominance on the prince’s features. “Take me to the river?”

It was easy to lose sight of the haven, even with the activity around it, and the pulse of power seeping across the hills and around the rocks of the forest. The trees, as sparse as they seemed outside of the actual woods of the Thicket, still swallowed up the plateau the further they wandered from it. The only indication of its presence as he led Noct along the road and down to the rushing waters was the smoke from the campfire, the beacon to wary travellers that seemed to beckon them to promised, ancient, safety. 

The closer they got to the waters, the more Noct let his expression slip back towards something more natural. A smirk as he trusted Nyx to guide his steps. “What was that about?”

“The man’s wearing a full Nif uniform.”

“So?”

“So, I don’t like it, little star.”

“I can tell,” Nyx stopped them at the riverbank, where he could watch the beasts on the opposite side for any signs of aggression. Where Noct could listen to the rush of waters and periodic leap of wayward fish trying to move upstream. “Tell me what it’s like here? It seems… It’s a living space. I can tell that.”

Nyx settled on one of the larger boulders at the water’s edge, hands on Noct’s waist to bring him closer. He wanted to suggest that Noct try fishing here, and he wanted to compare it to places that Noct had never experienced but were still so fresh in his own mind. He wanted to talk about the arch of the trees and the shade they cast over the road; the dappled sunlight spread across the green hill and the rocky slopes. The Thicket was across a short bridge, fences and signposts everywhere to ward off hunters from the green spaces protected by royal decree— “like the Myrlwood”— to stave off any decline of the strange creatures that could prowl between the far more ancient woods across the river. Those trees rose with the hills, a proper cavern created by foliage and gnarled trunks and jagged stone. It rose beyond the river just as much as the have did near the gentle sloped encompassed by the rough road, tucked away in its own corner of the kingdom. 

Nyx felt the familiar, nostalgic ache in his chest as he told Noctis. As he moved from what the Lucian forest looked like and on to the memory of his old haunting and hunting grounds back home. To the forest that had always just existed on the edge of his hometown, with its winding chocobo trails cut through it from meadow to meadow and haven to haven.

“I can see why you don’t like the uniform,” Noct said, back to Nyx’s chest, having moved from his side as Nyx talked. Until the Glaive’s chin rested on his shoulder. 

“No one likes the uniform.”

“Ravus probably doesn’t.”

“He’s just a bastard on principle.”

“You’ve just met him.”

“So? I’m an excellent judge of character, little star.”

“You’re a terrible judge of character.”

Noct smiled, Nyx could see it out of the corner of his eye. He smiled and he relaxed, and Nyx kissed his neck in appreciation for the little moment together. For this little semblance of peace among the strange adventure they were on. The reality of the situation, the covert nature of the mission out into the kingdom, had never really left them for a moment. When Nyx left Noct in Lestallum, it was with Ignis droning on about the meetings and official appearances that had been scheduled for the people there— the intimate gatherings a far cry from the hectic conferences of the Citadel. He had left with little more than a kiss to Noct’s cheek, the worry over Prompto’s safety taking more of his attention. And there had been talk of the treaty even as they arrived, news being cut off mid-sentence as the Regalia was parked and they all scrambled for their own breathing room again, the reminder of what was waiting for them back home a looming shadow on the horizon beneath the shimmering arc of the Wall. 

None of them had been afforded this little moment to just breathe since before crossing the checkpoint into Duscae and Cleigne. 

“I should go in after the Royal Arm in the forest for you,” Nyx muttered. The sense of duty, the reminder of it singing through the feel of Noct in his arms. “It would keep me out of trouble.”

“Not if you take Ravus.”

“Why the hell would I take Ravus?”

“Because you wouldn’t trust him alone here with me. And you’d end up getting yourself killed because you’d be distracted and an idiot.”

“I could take you, instead.”

“Blind man in the deep, dark woods?”

“Afraid of wolves?” His laugh came out as a sudden huff of air as Noct elbowed him for the joke. And he pressed a kiss to Noct’s cheek in retaliation, keeping his hold tight. “Guess not.”

“That was terrible,” Nyx hadn’t realised how much he had missed this— the way Noct relaxed in his arms like this, the soft huffs and pouts, the promises between them. The privacy. “Should we get the Royal Arm in there? Do we know anything about it?”

“No clue what’s supposed to be in there. But the place will be overrun with beasts.” He could see the way the trees grew, knew that it would be dark in that sort of shade even in the middle of the day. He knew that it wasn’t quite the same as home— the ancient forests he grew up in, the thick foliage laced overhead as branches wove themselves together to black out the sun. He knew that it would be dangerous without some foreknowledge, but Pelna and Luche hadn’t got out to this spot yet. There would be creatures in there that he might not be prepared for, that Noct might not know how to identify or fight, even with all the tricks of the growing Armiger. There’d be daemons in the darkest corners. “And it’s still our mission, right? Nothing says we can’t get you that edge you need in the Armiger while babysitting a princess.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s plenty that would tell you not to. Iggy, for one.”

“And you for two?”

“I…” 

There had been a dormant power in Noct that Nyx had started to let himself worry about. He had seen the start of it back in Leide, when Noct had picked up the Sword of the Wise and seemed to take the alien blade like it was made for him. He had voiced his concerns before, and now, with the Wanderer’s glaive yet to be really tested, Nyx could see it again. He had seen the concentration as they moved, the expectation in Noct’s awareness. “I’m worried about you, little star.”

“I don’t know if it’s memories or instinct or… whatever else is in my family, but there’s something there. I need to complete the Armiger to see it.”

“Kitten, don’t take this the wrong way, but you can’t see anything.”

“Don’t be stupid—”

“I mean it, Noct. Is it you who wants this weapon in there? Or is it whatever ghost from your family wants?”

The chatter carried down from the haven, the call for them to return for dinner, for plans. They needed to regroup. There were priorities to put in place, but they all knew that Noct was the final word on any way their path would take. It was Noct they would follow, or wait for, or venture into the unmarked forest for. The wind turned and the smoke from the fire drifted towards them, the carry of crisp wood and burning rot greeting them as they stood on the river bank. 

“I want you with me, Nyx. No wandering off.”

“I have your back, little star.”

When the sun had set, and the food scraped together from the new supplies purchased at the last outpost, the haven glowed around them. Noct and the Oracle had gravitated towards each other again, and Nyx sat closer to them than intended. Than he had initially planned. He understood the delicate nature of their relationship— the old friends out of touch under tragic circumstances, the inability to keep in communication by traditional means through private letters or notes. He understood that they had deserved a moment of peace together. But he also understood the bite of jealousy that threatened to surface in his chest. The worry that they were getting in far over their heads. 

He could handle war. He could understand battles and skirmishes and tactical works. But those had all been on grander scales. He understood missions and operations like the one he was on— seek and retrieve, protect and guide, he had done the same sort of work before on open battlefields that bled out violence around him. He understood his own place in the idea of Eos at war. 

But treaties and royal magic, Oracles and Astrals… those were all far above him. He was not used to the illusion of peace that hovered over them, with the reminder that there was likely an armada ready to take the Lucian capital standing a few feet away in a white uniform jacket. 

At least Luna seemed nice enough, even as she tutted over Noct, delicate movements tracing lines across his eyes. “I’m not sure I’m strong enough to help you, Noctis.”

The stars were half hidden by the trees, the light of the moon reflected on the rushing water of the river. The distant creaks of a living forest and cries of beasts lost by the campfire chatter as Prompto showed off his latest collection of photos, as Ignis sized Ravus up as a tactician over more formal talk of troops and placements and routes. As Gladio kept his guard firmly in place even as he shared idle talk with Prompto. There was a sense of peace despite the distant draw of the darkened woods across the river. Despite the shadowed movement of far darker creatures and ghosts clawing their way into the world, sending the beasts scattering to safety. 

“Help me?”

Nyx was far more interested in whatever the Oracle seemed to want to do to Noctis. 

“I believe there may still be a touch of the Scourge affecting the worst of your injuries,” she lowered her hands from their patterns, taking Noct’s hands in her own instead. “And I fear only the King of Light might fully banish it.”

Old stories and older faiths were also far beyond Nyx. “Is it hurting Noct? Will it make things worse?”

“Well, no,” the Oracle confessed with her own small smile; “But I’m sure it’s not comfortable.”

“I’m fine, Luna. I am.”

“I know. But I’m allowed to worry.”

“Nyx does more than enough of that.”

He’s not sure where it happened, but some time during the day, Nyx decided that he preferred the Oracle to her brother. That he preferred Luna’s ease and calm— her resolute nature— to her brother’s stern force. She had spent the afternoon, the meal, biding her time, eager to examine Noct and the old injuries. Nyx had watched as she took her first opportunity— the magic inherited by her station coming to light at the first moment afforded them— to pull Noct off to the edge of the haven. He had followed, because he could. Because he wanted to see what he had been missing from just the stories. Because he didn’t want to risk letting Noctis think he was alone.

He wanted to intrude, if he was being honest. But Luna seemed easy to admire. Easy to respect, if only for her fierce belief in herself. 

“You really should come back to Insomnia with me, you know,” Luna released Noct’s hands with a smile; “it would help Lucis’ standing in the treaty to see us both supporting King Regis.”

“Dad sent for you, not me.”

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be there too.”

“I actually agree with that,” Nyx offered, sitting forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Ordered or not, we should make our way home before the actual signing takes place.”

“If Dad—”

“I’m sure the King is trying to protect you, Noctis,” Nyx had to smile at the way Noct’s mouth snapped shut at the insistent tone from Luna, at the light scolding it carried. “But don’t you deserve the chance to protect him as well?”


End file.
